Nightmares of the Beast
by Riley Mourne
Summary: He felt horrible for the girl; to have the beast blood in and of itself was more than a burden. But to be stuck in your wolf form...he didn't even want to think about it. F!Dragonborn x Farkas
1. Chapter 1

**I feel the need to stress that while this is not my first piece, it is my first ****published Elder Scrolls fanfiction. Be gentle, please, and I'll welcome any constructive criticism.**

**A few other things: as per usual in this fandom, I may/will do things out of order and a bit different. Because, honestly, who wants to read _exactly _what they just played? **

_Disclaimer: Bethesda Softworks created and owns Skyrim. This is merely a fan-made story._

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

To put it simply, he was bored.

So bored, in fact, that he was willing to do even the simplest job Aela could offer; ridding some complaining Whiterun citizen of the wolves that had somehow gnawed their way into his basement. Farkas sighed heavily and drummed his fingers on the dining table. Hardly anybody here ever spoke during supper nowadays; it was immensely frustrating, and, like everything else lately, utterly boring. Vilkas, his twin brother, sat on his left, wolfing down his meat and bread so he could escape to his quarters to do only Talos-knows-what, more than likely study his lycanthropy books, and Skjor was on his right, glaring silently at his empty plate. While Farkas was not a man of many words himself, the quiet halls of Jorrvaskr were really starting to get on his last nerve.

The Nord let his pale blue eyes wander around the main room, sighing again. The Companions' headquarters used to be a jovial place, full of excitement; they were some of the very few people in Skyrim that were not daunted by the dragon crisis. They would leave in pairs and groups to scour the countryside outside of the city for the enormous reptilians, craving a challenge. But the beasts had fled now, retreated to the mountains after the death of Alduin three years ago. The Dragonborn—the hero, their savior, the exterminator of dragons—was a figure of great mystery, having driven them away. Farkas had heard many rumors about the secretive individual; the only thing that really seemed solid to him was that it was a woman. Nobody knew her race, her heritage, or what she looked like. Supposed eyewitnesses and acquaintances said that she wore black armor, plated and scaled, and a hood with a concealing mask*. Only the tips of her fingers remained uncovered. Or so the tales went.

The warrior had heard of her many feats; that she could slay a dragon in minutes, alone, and that she was swifter than any horse Skyrim had to offer. He wished he could have seen her in action; just the fact that a _woman _had rid the Nordic homelands of the dangerous, evil creature that was Alduin had him puzzled. Surely she could only be a Nord as well; a warrior at heart. No other race, in his opinion, seemed strong enough. But then again, what did he know? He'd have to ask Vilkas about it later.

The creaking of the large door snapped his attention towards the entrance of Jorrvaskr. Expecting to see Aela slip in, returning from her nightly run, or Kodlak, coming back from his audience with Jarl Balgruuf, he let out a small grunt of surprise when it was not them, but rather a small Bosmer.

Elves in Skyrim were a rare sight indeed, but Wood Elves had to be the minority. Even farther, to have one in the warrior halls of the Companions was seemingly daft. They had only one elf amidst them, a Dunmer called Athis. While the Dark elves to Farkas seemed more capable of wielding a shield or greatsword, the other elven races seemed to belong elsewhere. The High Elves, he thought, should cast their lot with the mages. They just had that look and air about them; the _holier-than-thou _disposition. He'd never been particularly fond of Altmers, now that he thought about it. As for the Bosmers…well, he thought they should stay in their trees with their bows. They were too small, from what he'd seen of them in the pictures Vilkas had shown him from one of his books, to wield a shield and sword.

Vilkas saw his distraction and glanced up towards the visitor, who was making her way towards them. Farkas watched her carefully, the wolf beneath the surface cautioning him to the unknown. The Nord twins crossed their arms in unison and leaned back in their chairs as she approached, her face cast in shadow from her traveler's hood; her race was evident from her stature and grace. Tentatively scenting the air, Farkas was hit with the most exotic smell he'd ever encountered. He watched Vilkas's face blank in surprise, as well; neither of them had ever encountered a Bosmer before. The elf smelled of faraway places, of pine needles and smoke and faintly of magic. But hidden beneath the surface of such a foreign scent was something familiar…something dangerous. The hairs on his arms started to rise. Farkas was not entirely sure if the smell was the elf herself or something she had encountered, for it was faint, but his beast blood was warning him.

As the mer reached them, she threw back her hood and Farkas was immediately at ease once more. She looked anything but dangerous; she was awful pretty, in his opinion. Being a Bosmer, her face was all planes and angles, but she had wide eyes and thick eyelashes that provided her with an almost ethereal air. Her black hair hung past her shoulders in an unbroken sheet, and the Nord could see the tip of one of her pointed ears peeking out through the curtain. The only thing that seemed the slightest fierce to him was the black war paint around her eyes. There wasn't much of it, hardly noticeable, but it was there.

She came to a stop in front of the three men and crossed her arms. "I am here for Kodlak," she said, with authority. "I hear you are in need of new recruits. And by the looks of things," she gazed around the empty dining hall. "Badly."

Farkas let out a low chuckle and sat forward. He didn't question how she already knew the Harbinger's name; Kodlak Whitemane was respected and known throughout all the Nine Holds. "This isn't all of us, girl," he chortled. "They're out back in the training yard. But that's not important." He waved a hand in Vilkas's face when his brother tried to interrupt. "You haven't given your name."

"And neither have you," she shot back, surprising him. There was an edge to her voice that had not been there before. "My reasons for coming are to seek out the Harbinger, and him only."

Farkas's brow furrowed; he wasn't entirely sure what had happened. As far as he knew, he hadn't said anything offensive. _Must be half Altmer,_ he reasoned, chalking up her behavior to her unknown bloodlines. Before he could speak, Skjor said, "He's in his study, downstairs. Follow me." He stood, and as he led the elf away, Farkas heard him mutter, "And watch your tongue. We don't tolerate hostility towards another."

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><p>"I'm just saying," Farkas said as he and his brother slashed and hacked outside in the empty training yard at the straw training dummies. "She's such a little thing. I don't see how she could even wear the right armor without falling over."<p>

"Agreed," Vilkas grunted as he heaved his massive greatsword downward, cleaving a straw figure in two. "But Kodlak is wise; he knows a warrior when he sees one." He ceased, slinging his weapon back into its sheath across his back. "And we could use an errand girl, I suppose."

"You speak of me as if I am not here," a voice called from the porch shadows. The men paused their banter, faces heating in embarrassment, as the elf stepped out into the moonlight. She had changed out of her traveling clothes into light elven armor, the sweeping, feather-like designs glinting in the small amount of watery light. Her long hair was braided, revealing that the tip of her right ear was missing. The corners of her mouth twitched up in a smirk and her scarlet eyes flashed as she caught their expressions. "You would do better to listen to your surroundings instead of chatter and carry on like mockingbirds. In battle," she stepped closer, her smug expression becoming more pronounced. "I would have killed you both and been on my way."

"We don't speak to each other when fighting," Vilkas retorted. The elf tutted.

"Now now, Nord. You know the rules. No hostility towards your shield-siblings."

_Definitely half Altmer, _Farkas concluded. But Vilkas wasn't wondering at the tone. "If you take me as such a fool to believe that Kodlak has allowed _you—_"

"But he has," the Bosmer intruded, "And he has sent me to be tested by you. You may find I am not what you are expecting. Now get on with it. My travels have made me weary and Aela has promised to show me my quarters."

Vilkas was silent, seething, before he replied with a curt, "Very well." Farkas retreated to a bench on the porch to watch the spectacle. The elf drew two elven daggers to match her armor as Vilkas brandished his one-handed sword and a thick steel shield. The two stared each other down until Vilkas made the first move.

He feinted left, twirling his blade in a circle to confuse her, then rushed straight forward. He swung in an uppercut, intending to take advantage of her lack of a shield, but the elf managed to catch his blade on the hilt of one of her daggers, something Farkas had never seen before. His eyebrows rose as she whirled, braid flying, and slashed at the sliver of exposed skin on Vilkas's sword hand. He lurched away, flinching. The elf, with speed quicker than that of even Aela, somehow managed to bring her forearm behind his shield. With a yank and a fierce snarl, the metal disc clattered to the ground.

Vilkas swung again, not even pausing and clipped her chin. The Bosmer hissed and stooped to the ground, and for a moment Farkas thought she was going to take up the shield. Instead, she darted under his twin's thrust and managed to get around to Vilkas's back. The warrior tried to whirl, bringing his sword out to the side as he prepared to spin, but the elf was impossibly nimble and quick. With a cry of victory, she brought one blade up to his throat from behind and pressed the other tip to the small of his back, where his wolf armor wasn't as thick. Vilkas froze, panting from exertion even though the test had lasted only a few short minutes. For a moment, everything was silent. Farkas's eyebrows had nearly disappeared into his hairline as they fought and he couldn't help but let out a whoop at seeing his brother finally bested at _something. _And the fact that it was a female Wood Elf would only make teasing him about it more fun.

The elf finally broke the silence. "Do not underestimate me again, Nord. You would do better to judge on actions, not appearances." She withdrew, sheathing her daggers and brushing away the beads of sweat from her brow. "I assume that I have passed?"

Vilkas didn't say anything. He only scowled and slammed his sword with more force than was necessary back into its sheath. Without another word, he stomped into Jorrvaskr and slammed the thick wooden door behind him. The elf watched him go, her lips twitching as she fought to contain her mirth.

"That was incredible!" Farkas burst as she began to make her way back to the porch. "I've never seen someone so fast. Who taught you to wield daggers like that?" The Bosmer only chuckled, untying her braid. She combed her hair back out and removed her gauntlets, flexing her fingers.

"A good teacher," she said vaguely. She brought her scarlet eyes up to meet his. "Someone who respected me and did not assume." Farkas looked away, abashed, and mumbled something that sounded somewhat like an apology under his breath. The elf laughed again, and her voice was not as hard. "I expected as much from you Nords, however. I suppose time will be the only remedy for your false beliefs."

She tucked her gauntlets under her arm and turned, intending to go back inside the headquarters. As she passed, Farkas caught her arm. She turned to face him, not saying a word, and quirked one angular brow. "You must tell me your name, new blood," he insisted. "I don't wanna be calling you 'girl' or 'elf' all the time. It's not very respectful." He smirked, trying to get on her good side. He didn't want to be beaten like his brother. It simply wouldn't do.

The Bosmer smiled a hard smile, flashing her white teeth. "A start," she allowed. "My name..." she said, as if it was of great importance. "My name is Islanzadí. Now yours, old blood."

Farkas laughed in good humor, glad to have gotten a somewhat friendly response out of the strange little elven woman. "Farkas, at your service. Vilkas, the man you fought, is my brother."

Islanzadí smiled. "I know. You forget that I was watching you two flail about with that hunk of steel." She nodded at his massive steel sword slung across his back.

"Yeah, about that…" Farkas began self-consciously. "How long were you there? We didn't even hear the door open." Really, all he wanted to know was how much she had heard. And, judging by the severity of her expression, he could safely guess more than he wanted her to.

"You'd do better to keep your voices lower and your opinions to yourself from now on." She said simply, ignoring his question and instead opting to berate him. The hard edge began to creep back into her voice. "I do not need people of your beliefs. That woman Njada has made it clear I am not wanted. But you will find I do not particularly care."

With that, she pried his hand off her and glided back inside, leaving him dumbfounded…again.

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><p>Islanzadí carefully made her way through the dining hall, sticking to the wall and out of sight of the other Companions. The woman Aela was mumbling quietly with Skjor in seclusion, her nose twitching oddly. The elf silently made her way down the stairs to the living quarters and slipped through the wooden door, following the huntress's directions to her room. She carefully shed her favorite set of armor and tucked it carefully away into her chest, along with her daggers and nightingale bow. She rummaged through the wardrobe for plainclothes and hurriedly threw them on before walking quickly towards the end of the hall, where Kodlak had told her to meet him after the arms test with Vilkas. The Harbinger's door was closed, so she tentatively knocked and waited. "Enter," she heard from inside, and Islanzadí slipped in without a sound.<p>

The old man was sitting at his table, exactly where she had left him. He had been poring over an aged book, but upon seeing who entered, he quickly snapped it shut and tucked it away. "New blood," he greeted, beckoning her over to him. "Vilkas has told me of your test. I take it you did well."

"I would assume," the Bosmer replied. She offered nothing more, and Kodlak studied her closely before moving on. "As it may be," he continued, "There is one other task you must complete before we welcome you into the ranks."

Islanzadí hardly believed she would be "welcomed" by anyone other than the old man, but she nodded all the same. Her taunts at Vilkas were just that; empty sayings to irk him. She knew she was no real Companion yet. "We have received word from a scholar that a fragment of Wuuthrad is hidden in Dustman's Cairn. Whether or not he was telling the truth remains to be seen."

"Wuuthrad?" the elf questioned. The name was fairly familiar, but she had no concrete information on just what, exactly, it was.

"The ancient axe of Ysgramor, our founder," he said quickly. "That aside, I want you to retrieve it. Prove your dedication and honor."

Islanzadí nodded. "Am I to do this alone?" She'd never been to Dustman's Cairn and was unsure of its layout and traps.

Kodlak shook his head. "No. You may choose one of your future shield-siblings to accompany and asses you. Choose wisely, for they will give a testament of your valor when you return."

The Bosmer frowned, not pleased. She did not particularly like the company of any of the Companions aside from the Harbinger. She knew that the Nord men meant nothing of the insulting judgments they made of her, of her size and seeming fragility, but the women knew better. Njada Stonearm in particular was _very _unpleasant company.

The elf sighed. "Very well," she said. "I choose Farkas." The mountain of a man was one of the more likeable people, someone she sensed was genuine in his words and expressions. Even still, his conversation with his brother had been anything but flattering. _Little elf _her ass.

Kodlak nodded. "So be it. I will inform him as soon as possible. Now be gone; you have a long day tomorrow." He turned away from her, back to his book and careful to conceal the cover. Clearly a dismissal, she rose to her feet and silently padded back to her own quarters. The pelt-covered mattress felt heavenly to her sore muscles, and she gratefully sank onto the bed.

Islanzadí sighed as she shed her clothes, kicking them onto the floor as she lay upon the bed. She slid under the furs and let her mind wander. _Ramanor, _she sighed in her mind as she blew out the candle and the normal feeling of loneliness began to set in. _I wish you were here._

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><p><strong>*nightingale armor, in case you're wondering. I don't normally associate myself with the Dark Brotherhood...but I have a feeling that I will, just this once. <strong>

**One other thing I think is important to mention: yes, I did get my character's name from The Inheritance Cycle. Christopher Paolini came up with it first. It is not mine; just the character. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to those of you who read, and especially to Amondra and Razzika for leaving me some very encouraging reviews! I'm very glad you liked it. **

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

Morning found Islanzadí sore and irritated, but she rose from her warm bed nonetheless and lit the lantern next to her on the end table. The sun had yet to rise, but Dustman's Cairn was going to be a trying trek at best and the elf knew that the sooner she left with her shield-brother, the better. She rummaged around in her chest for a few moments, pulling out her travel-worn elven armor and a scruffy blouse. She slipped it on underneath the protective plating and strapped her two daggers at her hips. She contemplated her bow for a few moments, turning it over in her hands, but decided it would only weigh her down. Besides, if they had need for any long-range attacks, she could use her destruction magic.

Three firm knocks on her door caught her attention, and she quietly murmured, "Come in," as she slipped on her boots and her magicka circlet. The door creaked open and in walked Farkas, clad in his usual steel armor and his massive greatsword slung across his back as usual. He eyed her for a moment, taking in her weapons. "I would bring a shield, if I were you," he advised. "These places are usually crawling with undead. You know, draugr and the like."

Islanzadí ignored him. "Come," she said instead, brushing past the hulking Nord. "We best be off. I'm going to assume you know how to ride a horse, yes?" She chuckled at his grimace, although not entirely surprised. She was astounded at the lack of horses here; in her homeland, Valenwood, there were many of the creatures and even more of the wild Igma beasts. Here, in Skyrim, the most horses she had seen at a stable at one time were two.

"I know how," Farkas protested indignantly. "I just…don't really like to. It's hard to walk after you get off." He followed her out of her room and up to the dining hall. Jorrvaskr was empty at this time of the morn, the usual occupants either asleep or, if part of The Circle, out running and hunting, with the exception of Vilkas, Kodlak and himself. So basically, just Aela and Skjor.

"I would think you would be tougher than that, old blood," the Bosmer teased as they slipped out of the building into the quiet streets of Whiterun. "We could always walk, I suppose, but it would take twice as long to return and any loot we find would weigh us down on the way back. Besides," she said, turning to smirk at him. Farkas absently noted that the gold and emerald of her circlet made her hair look even blacker somehow. "You wouldn't want me to waste my money, would you? I've already gotten us the steeds." He shrugged and continued to follow her down the cobblestone path and out of the city. He could see the sun beginning to throw its orangey rays above the distant mountain peaks, and with the breeze blowing and the larks beginning their songs, the wolf in him stirred and he visibly relaxed at being outside of the city's confines. Farkas could smell a small herd of elk southeast, inhaling the scent of their blood as it pumped wetly throughout their bodies. Upwind, he could faintly smell his two friends as they began to return. From the way they were moving, swiftly and with hardly any noise, he guessed they were probably still in beast form.

He was yanked back to reality at a shrill whistle. He jumped, and Islanzadí snickered. "Get your head out of the clouds, Farkas," she chided. "We're on business." She tossed him the reins to a big paint gelding, and he watched her as she expertly clambered up onto her own black mount. He mounted as well, with significantly less grace. His horse snorted and pawed at the ground, eager to be off, and with another high-pitched call, the Bosmer spurred her beast into a ground-eating lope. The Nord followed as they made their way northwest.

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><p>"Damn bandits," Islanzadí hissed when they finally reached the edge of the entrance to Dustman's Cairn. She deftly wiped the blood off her dagger onto her armor and snapped the shaft off the arrow that was imbedded in her arm. She gingerly dismounted and tethered the horse to a nearby tree. "At least it wasn't poisoned," she growled as she walked over to Farkas. The pair had come across two different bands of the thugs not far from their destination. They had somehow gotten themselves caught in the crossfire between the inhabitants of Silent Moons and Halted Steam Camps as they were in some scuffle over some treasure supposedly located in Lunar Forge.<p>

The Bosmer swore so explosively she managed to impress Farkas as she removed the head of the arrow. "What a fine way to start off the mission," she growled sarcastically as she flung it away. Farkas himself had managed to escape mostly unscathed, but his armor was thicker and had less weak links. Most of the arrows had clattered off harmlessly. But her thinner, lighter armor…well, it wasn't exactly up to par with a dozen arrows flying straight at you.

"Lemme see," Farkas insisted as they made their way down the stairs and stopped by the entrance. "Can't have you goin' in there with a hole in you." He tried to inspect the puncture, but she yanked her arm away and all but snarled at him.

"I'm not helpless," she snapped. She rummaged around in her pack for a moment before pulling out a wad of bandages and a small vial of healing potion. "It's minor, anyway. There's no need to wait on me to continue." Islanzadí unstopped the cork on the vial with her teeth as she pushed open the door with her shoulder. Farkas watched her, puzzled, before she called, "Are you coming or not?" Shaking his head, the Nord followed her into the ancient tomb.

Inside, it was dark, dank and musty, and smelled like rotten cloth and festering flesh. Farkas wrinkled his nose as his stomach churned; his heightened senses from the beast blood made the putrid smell that much more disgusting. Islanzadí shot him a questioning look when he coughed, but the warrior merely shrugged and rearranged his expression into something he hoped resembled eagerness for battle. "Stick close," he muttered as they began making their way deeper into the burial site, stepping over dry roots and skirting around skeletons. "You never know what might jump at you."

The elf made a sound of agreement as they ventured farther. The place was eerily silent, and Islanzadí had the fleeting thought that this was a bit too easy when a sudden banging sounded to her right. Her ear twitched, and she managed to spin around just in time to see the lid fly off a nearby coffin. Something that she could only describe as a glorified skeleton stepped out, snarling and moaning nonsense, and she heard Farkas mutter something unintelligible under his breath as the next two coffins opened up in much the same manner. "Alright," he whispered urgently as the undead began to advance. "Draugr've got a weakness to—"

With a shout and a sudden burst of a black and purple vortex-like-thing, Islanzadí had put away one of her daggers and summoned something that Farkas had no way to describe. It looked similar to a spriggan, but without all the wood and branches. Not to mention it was made of fire. The thing started lobbing fireballs at the three draugr, shrieking its indignation, while the Bosmer darted forward and slashed persistently at the one enemy that was spraying frost everywhere. Every time the thing would turn toward her, groaning and moaning the way undead do, she would dance out of the way as it slashed at her or slide between its skinny legs and hack at its back.

Farkas didn't even have time to join the fray. Within moments, the three draugr lay dead at the elf and her conjuration's feet. "What the… How did you…" the Nord spluttered, one hand still on the hilt of his sword. Islanzadí chuckled, her good humor reappearing. She flexed her injured arm and nodded in satisfaction when there was no pain. "What in Oblivion is _that?_" Farkas demanded once he managed to gather his wits, gesturing wildly at the flaming lady. He wasn't very fond of magic; to him it seemed like cheating. The thing regarded him absently, twirling and flipping around in the air as it floated.

"Hmm?" the elf replied lazily, rummaging around in her satchel again. "Oh, that is a Flame Thrall, old blood. I've read about draugr and know they have a weakness to fire. She'll follow us around for a while until I dismiss her, or until she's killed. Ah, here it is." She pulled out a glass sword and stuffed her dagger into its place. "This will do more damage, I believe. Now, shut your mouth unless you want to eat flies—because Akatosh _knows _how many of the wretched things there are in here—and keep moving." She deftly tied her long hair back into a sloppy braid and set out at a brisk jog down a nearby tunnel. The Flame Thrall followed and, after shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, Farkas clomped after them.

The passage was long and winding, and occasionally they would round a corner only to find that the narrow space had coffins lying in niches in the stone and that they should have been quieter because almost all of them had the irritating undead warriors just waiting to attack some unfortunate passerby. But they all met the same fate; the slash of steal, the hiss of fire and the savage cry of a warrior before they were contorted in odd positions on the floor before the duo would continue on their way.

Islanzadí led her Thrall and shield-brother into a large cavernous space with a high ceiling and shallow rooms lining the walls, and Farkas let out a relieved sigh. "Finally," he grunted. "I hate tunnels." He placed his fists on his hips and gazed around the cave. "There's gotta be a release for that gate over there somewhere," he rumbled, jerking his head over towards the iron barrier. "You check over there and I'll head this way. Holler if you find anything." Turning on his heel, the Nord sauntered off over toward the other side of the cavern.

The Bosmer strolled over in the direction he indicated. The room she walked into had almost-empty shelves lining the walls and small potions scattered on broken tables. However, those weren't what caught her attention. In a small alcove, there sat a lever, rusty and almost hidden behind a burial urn.

Smirking in triumph, Islanzadí stalked over to it and wrenched it towards the other end of the release. The thing creaked horribly before it jerked forward and slammed into the other side, jarring her shoulder. With a deafening crash, an iron gate slammed down on the stones almost directly behind her. Islanzadí and her Thrall both yelled in alarm, and elf desperately tried to yank the lever back to free herself. It was stuck, though; it wouldn't budge no matter how hard she pulled on it.

A low chuckle sounded behind her, and the elf whirled around to glare at Farkas as he laughed at her predicament. "Now look what you've gotten yourself into," he chortled, crossing his arms. "And here I thought you were even smarter than Vilkas."

"Shut up, Nord," she hissed, darting over to the bars and gripping them until her tan knuckles turned white. "Get me out of here before you're stuck out there with hordes of draugr." She glared icily at him, her conjuration flickering even brighter than before in its anger. As an elf, Islanzadí absolutely hated feeling trapped and caged. Even worse, she couldn't believe she hadn't noticed the pointed ends of the gate peeking out of the ceiling of the small room. She wasn't usually so unobservant.

"Relax," Farkas drawled. "I think I saw the release over that way. Oh, it looks like you did manage to open up that tunnel after all. Alright, just sit tight for a minute." The warrior turned away, about to walk leisurely down the hall and free his shield-sister.

A loud clattering and half-crazed yells of triumph interrupted him, and Islanzadí could only watch in growing horror as about ten people, armed and grinning maniacally, suddenly appeared from the ledges above them and came running out of the gate she had unknowingly opened. Terror seized her when Farkas was forced to back up against the iron bars of her prison, his steel armor grating against them. The chuckling of their attackers ceased, and looks of absolute disgust and hatred replaced the bloodthirsty mirth. Farkas drew his sword, but the Bosmer knew that without help, even he wouldn't be able to escape.

"Which one is that?" one of the attackers growled, shifting his feet and twitching.

"It doesn't matter," a woman replied. "He wears that armor, he dies!"

Whoops of agreement and shouts of "Die, mongrel," and "Ha! We've got you now, scum!" followed her comment. "Killing you will make an _excellent _story," one of them purred, and Islanzadí's eyes narrowed to slits and she clutched the bars tighter in her hands. "And what a pretty little thing you've got with you," the man continued, his beady brown eyes roving over her face and down her body. "I'm sure we could find some uses for you, little elf."

_Gods, how I _hate _that name… _she thought. The Thrall behind her hissed in anger, flames flickering in her hands as she prepared to torch someone through the bars.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Farkas's guttural growl. "You won't live long enough to touch her," he snarled, and even though she thought he was mad for taking them all on by himself, the Bosmer couldn't help but admire his bravery. Her brain whirred, trying to think of any way to get herself out of the room and out to help her shield-brother.

Cries of fear and the sound of bones snapping and creaking jerked Islanzadí out of her thoughts. Where Farkas once stood there was now a swirling cloud of black smoke. Her heart stopped and her blood turned to ice as an enormous, humanoid wolf rose up out of the mist and roared its fury. The elf's scarlet eyes widened and she shrank away from the bars, stumbling over herself and falling to the ground as the wolf lunged at the nearest person. Savagely, it tore the man limb from limb. His screams echoed off the cavern walls and the yells of fright from his companions rang in her ears. Blood smeared over its muzzle, the wolf proceeded to brutally maul the rest of humans, each killed more savagely than the last. One woman was seized by her throat and slammed against the iron bars, and Islanzadí shrieked in horror as the girl was raked and clawed at. Her blood spattered over the elf's golden armor, tainting it even more. Another was knocked down and decapitated quicker than she could blink.

By the time the bloodbath was over, all the attackers barely resembled humans and the stones underneath them were forever stained with crimson. Islanzadí kept her eyes on the hulking black wolf as it loped down the hallway. Seconds later, the bars in front of her jerked upward and she was free once more. But she didn't dare move.

A low baritone howl filled the cavern, and the elf could faintly hear the snapping and creaking of bone as the beast phased back into Farkas. But the elf couldn't think around what she had just witnessed. She was frozen, her conjured Thrall staring down at her blankly as it waited for her to move on. Farkas tentatively stepped around the corner; only his woolen breeches had survived the transformation. The elf stared at him, her thoughts wild with fear.

She had seen this before. Witnessed a similar slaughter and barely survived herself.

"I, uh… I hope I didn't scare you," Farkas whispered as he carefully stepped toward her. Islanzadí flinched and tried to mask her growing terror. The Nord sighed, dragging a weary hand down his face. "Oh, who am I kidding," he snarled to himself. "I'm really sorry, shield-sister. I guess I should have given you a bit of a warning."

"You don't say," she snapped, coming back to her senses. Trying to cover up her brief moment of terror before he could question her about it, she picked herself up off the ground and dusted off her armor. "Why didn't you tell me, Farkas? You never know how someone might react to something like this! What if I decided to run out screaming and report you to the city guard?"

Farkas chuckled. "That doesn't seem like you," he said. "And you were never supposed to know. Oh, Talos, Skjor and Vilkas are going to skin me," he growled. He deftly began to wander around the cavern, carefully avoiding the corpses as he gathered up his scattered armor. "These are the Silver Hand," he said, nodding over at one of the more recognizable bodies. "They hunt down people like me and torture us. They think we're unholy, mindless beasts and they want to kill us all."

Islanzadí remained silent, drawing closer to the protection of the Thrall. She didn't know what to say to him; she couldn't trust her voice.

"We have remained here long enough," she finally said when she was sure her voice was stable. "We need to continue, retrieve the fragment, and get out of these caverns." She proceeded to march down the tunnel passageway, back ram-rod straight and her fists clenched.

Farkas sighed. He'd have a lot of explaining to do upon returning to Jorrvaskr.


	3. Chapter 3

**athos-aramis: Yes, I have thought of that. But, with all the Vilkas pairings that I've seen, the dragonborn is always smart like him. I thought I'd be a rebel and give my knowledgable character to Farkas instead. Does that make sense? I think she should love him for his heart, not his brain. :) **

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><p><strong>C<strong>**h****apter Three**

In the weeks following Islanzadí and Farkas's return to Jorrvaskr, the elf had become even more distant than she previously was. She wasn't openly hostile towards any members of The Circle, but she dealt mainly with Kodlak only and went on many small odd-jobs that Aela and Skjor gave her. Farkas watched from afar, confused and slightly hurt at her behavior. While he couldn't entirely blame her for reacting to the news as she did, it didn't seem like part of her character. From their excursion to Dustman's Cairn, he gathered that the elf was vastly knowledgeable on a great many things and was scarcely surprised or frightened. She was strong, both as a warrior and a mage, and was wise. It didn't compute.

Aela in particular was spitting mad at the new blood. "Who does she think she is?" the scantily-clad huntress hissed over supper. "Running off like she does and taking her sweet time in coming back? How do we know she's not out spouting off our secret to the Jarls?" Skjor sighed at her ranting; it wasn't the first time Aela had gone off. What had Farkas worried, though, was the agreement of pretty much everybody but him and Kodlak to her rants. "What do you think they'd do if they found out one of the most powerful organizations in Skyrim was ruled by werewolves? They'd have us muzzled and dumped in the mountains!"

"She's not like that!" Farkas retorted, slamming his tankard down. The dining hall was empty save for the four of them. "She's not a snitch and she won't do anything to hurt us!"

Aela cackled. "You barely know her, Farkas. You've been on _one _mission with her. One. You have no idea what she's like or who she works for."

"She's right," Vilkas agreed, leaning forward. "Think about it, brother," he cautioned when he caught Farkas's black expression. "She showed up out of nowhere. No family, no history, no money. She's barely given us her name and hardly stays in Whiterun long enough to get a new mission and be gone again. For all we know, she could be an agent of the Silver Hand."

"No!" Farkas roared. "That's not _true! _She helped me kill them in the Cairn with no problems."

"That doesn't matter," Skjor offered. "The Dark Brotherhood will kill all their members if they have suspicion in their ranks. She could be an assassin, a thief, anything. She can't be trusted. Elven folk are tricksters, liars. They use magic to manipulate the world and people around them."

Farkas groaned and drained the rest of his mead. He couldn't argue with them anymore; they had good points. After returning and being installed into the Companions' ranks, Islanzadí drew away from everyone. She didn't let anyone carry on a long conversation with her before she went back to training or left on another mission. To that point, the others were right; they didn't know anything about her. Farkas had thought that maybe the mission with her would help him get to know her better; he genuinely liked her feisty attitude and wit. She wasn't terrible to look at, either, and she was a fierce fighter. But while he wasn't the sharpest greatsword to ever come out of the Skyforge, he knew people. And the elf wasn't a traitor, he was sure of it, no matter how brief of time he had spent with her.

"You're wrong," he hissed again. "I trust her. Kodlak trusts her. Is that not enough for you?" He rose from his seat and stalked past them, seething. "Just because she doesn't spout off her life story to everybody doesn't mean she's hiding something." With that, he tromped down the stairs to the living quarters and slammed the wooden door.

Vilkas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose; he loved his brother dearly, but the boy was naïve and far too trusting of outsiders. While he didn't particularly like the elf as just a person, what with her haughty attitude and overly-flowery language, the fact that she offered nothing of herself had him suspicious. He was glad that he wasn't he only one. Skjor and Aela were far less subtle in their hostile glances at the new blood whenever they caught a glimpse of her.

"We must confront her," he mumbled a moment later. "We have to know more about her before we let her go anywhere else." Skjor and Aela exchanged a quick glance that he didn't catch. "If it turns out that she is working for the Silver Hand, we'll turn her over to the guards and make something up to cover our tracks," he continued. "And if she's an assassin from the Brotherhood, I'll kill her myself." The words sounded horribly apathetic, even to him. While Vilkas regarded Kodlak's word over everybody else's in all of Skyrim, he couldn't help but feel that the Harbinger was mistaken. He didn't like Islanzadí, but he certainly did not want to kill her. And the fact that his brother was so vehemently opposed to any harm coming to her was worrisome; Farkas didn't exactly wear his heart on his sleeve, but his protectiveness of the Bosmer was a bit too strong to be merely something made of friendship.

Something was off with this elf since her return, and the Nord had every intention of finding out what.

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><p>Farkas stood in his room, pacing and growling and muttering to himself. He was infuriated with the other Circle members. Islanzadí was a good person, as far as he was concerned. Any woman who could watch him phase back and forth without shrieking like a banshee was a good one. But the talk of the others couldn't help but plant a small seed of doubt in his brain; what if they were right and the Bosmer had some sinister hidden agenda? What if she secretly despised him because he was a werewolf?<p>

The thought stung horribly, and for a moment the Nord halted his pacing. He didn't want her to hate him; he normally didn't really care what the others thought of him, of his lack of eloquence, but he sincerely liked the elf and respected her and didn't want to earn her disapproval. She was the only one out of all the Companions that hadn't made fun of him for not being smart.

His tiny chambers suddenly felt suffocating. Farkas growled again and dragged his hand through his long dark hair before snatching up his boots and marching back upstairs. He peered into the dining hall and saw that, thankfully, it was empty of his friends. He walked as quietly as he could to the back doors that led to the training yard and pushed them open.

The night air, cool and crisp, immediately calmed his spirits. The wolf inside relaxed and theoretically wagged its tail. The warrior slunk over to a table and plunked down, sighing heavily. He had to get his Bosmer friend to talk somehow so he could prove to the others that she wasn't a threat to their way of life. The task was daunting even to think about; he remembered with some humor how hard it was just to get her to tell him her name. He let his silvery-blue eyes wander about, scanning the night sky and watching the twin moons rise.

He gave a visible start when he noticed a slim figure perched on the stone wall. She had long black hair and wore sooty, banged-up golden armor. He caught a glimpse of an emerald on the circlet wrapped around her head, and watched as she lifted her left hand. Sparks danced between her fingers, snapping and crackling, before they morphed to the oozing cold of frost, and then finally changed to the hissing, bright orange of fire. Farkas watched Islanzadí sigh, and he absently wondered when she had returned from her last mission. He shrugged to himself, not really caring, and made his way over to her.

The elf said nothing when he braced his elbows against the wall beside her. He waited for a few moments, wondering if she would offer any information about her outing, before he decided that the silence was too heavy. "Welcome back," he said lightly. "How went the mission?"

"Well," she said. "I captured the criminal on the outskirts of Dawnstar. What he was doing up in those mountains, I don't know." She drummed her fingers against the wall and inhaled deeply. "Either way, the Jarl was pleased to have him in irons again."

Farkas felt his heart stutter for a moment at the mention of Jarls. What if she had spilled, like the others said? "Islanzadí—"

"You may call me Laní, if you wish," the Bosmer interrupted. "I know my name is a mouthful. You can thank my mother for that."

Farkas grinned despite himself; this was the elf that he had known. Belatedly, he realized she had unknowingly offered a way to give up further information about herself. He cleared his throat self-consciously and asked, "So, um… who was your mother? Was she a Wood Elf, too?"

The elf turned to look at him, staring him down with hard scarlet eyes. "Why do you wish to know, wolf?"

Something about her tone suggested she knew exactly why. Farkas fidgeted nervously before saying, "Did you hear…?"

Laní snorted and flicked a stray pebble off the wall and down the cliff face. "Yes, Nord, I heard you and your pack arguing. Thank you, by the way, for defending me. It's nice to hear I'm not entirely detestable." She turned to him again, scrutinizing his face. "I don't see any reason how my heritage will convince Aela and Skjor that I am not planning to kill you all."

Farkas shrugged again. "Well, why don't you just say why you came in the first place? Or, you know, both. I've always been curious about why you don't climb trees and sing bows out of wood." He grinned widely up at her, happy to have fallen into the playful banter from weeks before.

Islanzadí was silent for a long time. When she finally spoke again, it was but a mere whisper. "You have heard of the Oblivion Crisis, yes?" She watched him as he thought for a moment before nodding. "Then know this: my great-great grandmother was the Champion of Cyrodiil. A Wood Elf, like me." She paused for a moment, tracing patterns on the worn stone with her nails before continuing. "From the paintings I've seen of her and the tales told, she was very beautiful. Her name was Reylana. She was born in Valenwood and moved to the Imperial province when her parents found work with the Grey Fox. She was raised a criminal and was thrown into prison after being caught with spell tomes lifted out of a book store. Long story short, the emperor at the time had recognized her from a vision and deemed her the savior of the country. She was released from prison after killing his assassin and being given the Amulet of Kings." She smiled bitterly at Farkas's intake of breath. Vilkas had told him about the strange necklace; about how only those with the blood of a dragon could wear it; dragonborn people.

"She was told of an illegitimate heir to the throne of Tamriel. His name was Martin Septim, a priest of Akatosh. She worked for him for months, and they fell deeply in love." She chuckled darkly at what she said next. "My great-grandmother was the result. After Martin died, Reylana told no one she was with child. The only reason she was found out was because one of her Blade friends found her nursing the babe and reported it to the High Chancellor."

"So you're—" Farkas began, shocked, but Laní interrupted him. "Yes, I could be the Empress of Tamriel, old blood. But my grandmother left that to her older brother and returned to Valenwood. That's where the rest of my family, along with me and my brother were born. Both my parents were Wood Elves, before you ask; Martin is the only Imperial in my blood. But then the Great War came." Her scarlet eyes darkened and her hands tightened into fists. "My parents were killed in a raid by the Thalmor. My brother, Ramanor, and I fled to Cyrodiil to find sanctuary with our royal relatives. But they refused us, saying that we were too primitive from the forests to reside in the palace. So we headed north, towards Skyrim."

Farkas watched her carefully, and was astonished to notice that her red eyes were beginning to glass over. "Near the border, we were attacked. By… by a feral werewolf."

Farkas recoiled, flabbergasted. "So that's why!" He breathed. The Bosmer turned to stare at him blankly. "That's why you haven't been talking to me anymore! You're scared," he said softly. "I'm really, really sorry, Laní. If I had known, I wouldn't have changed. I could have fought my way out. Why didn't you tell me?"

"For the same reason you didn't reveal your beast blood to me," she snapped. "Worry. Fear. Farkas, you have no idea how close I came to leaving the Companions when we returned. But it wouldn't have been right to leave. Now shut up, I'm not finished." The Nord obediently closed his mouth, vowing to question her about it more later.

"Anyway, yes, we were near the border when the thing cornered us." Her voice, usually smooth and low, cracked. "It killed my brother," she said in a whisper, and Farkas flinched. "Ripped him to pieces while he was trying to protect me. I didn't know anything about fighting at the time. It turned to me and I had no choice but to fight it or die trying. I almost did," she laughed bitterly, and the sound made the Nord's blood run cold. "I was covered in blood and holding a dagger when it sniffed the air, tucked its tail and ran. And that's when the carriages arrived."

"What carriages?"

"Imperial prison carts," Islanzadí stated. "They saw me, standing knee deep in bloody snow and drenched in crimson, holding a dagger and the body of my brother lying shredded a few feet away. I was arrested on the spot for murder." She laughed again. "I wasn't even given a chance to defend myself. I was bound, thrown into a cart and shipped off to Helgen, sentenced to execution. But that's when the dragon attacked." Farkas nodded, having heard the story of the reappearance of Alduin many times from the other Companions. "I escaped with the help of a kind Imperial guard and left to my own devices. Long story short, after... wandering for a while alone, I decided to settle in Whiterun." She turned to him. "And that's all. I'm no assassin or agent of the Silver Hand. I've spoken to no one about your secret and don't plan to."

"Wow," Farkas breathed after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. "I, uh, don't really know what to say. I'm not so good with words," he added sheepishly. "But I'm glad to know what happened. It makes you seem less…"

"Hard?"

"Yeah, that." He smiled at her, revealing his slightly lupine teeth. "And you don't have to shun us anymore, new blood. We won't hurt you."

Laní laughed again, but the sound was more wholesome this time. It sent a flash of heat down Farkas's spine, and his inner wolf stirred uncomfortably. He shoved it down before he did anything stupid. "You, perhaps, but I sometimes believe that your brother is thinking of different ways to string me up or run me through." She turned to smile at him. "I apologize for scorning you, Farkas. I'll try to be more polite from now on." The elf bit her lip nervously, saying, "But would you please refrain from telling the others what I have just told you? I don't need word spreading that I was arrested. It doesn't seem proper for a Companion."

Farkas chuckled his rumbling laugh, patting her knee. "Sure, elfling. As long as you promise to give them a chance. They're not so bad once you get to know them. Just… er, a bit pushy sometimes." He scratched his cheek, contemplating. "They say I'm too nice to the new bloods. But they just seem mean to me. Don't let it get to ya." With that, he gave her knee one last pat and strode back inside, his spirits noticeably brighter.

Islanzadí turned back to the stars, thinking. She genuinely liked Farkas, not just for his admirable courage and battle prowress, but for his heart. Despite her snappish, pessimistic attitude towards most things, the Bosmer had a romantic outlook on life, like most of her kinsmen. Compassion was something to be admired, in her eyes, and Farkas certainly had a lot of it. He had a big heart for a warrior Nord, with room to love more than just steel and the glory of war. It certainly didn't hurt, she thought to herself with humor, that he was rather handsome, with a lovely personality to match.

The elf smiled to herself. She should continue to speak to him like this; she rather enjoyed his company.

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><p>Aela and Skjor bounded up to the city gates as the sun began to rise the following morning. As they phased back to their two-legged forms and hastily dressed, the pair shared a knowing look, full of apprehension and something similar to excitement.<p>

Tonight, they would change the new blood. After all, one does not simply waltz in on a centuries-old secret and expect to get away.

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><p><strong>Am I the only one who saw that connection between Oblivion and Skyrim? The Martin thing? Well, I played as a female Wood Elf in the former as well, and I thought... "Hm. Female Bosmer here... <em>dragonborn <em>female Bosmer there..."**


	4. Chapter 4

**Wow, thanks _so _much, everybody, for all the reviews, favorites and alerts! I'm so happy you guys like this. It's tons of fun to write and it's good to know you all like it as much as I do.**

**A bit of a warning: This chapter is kind of intense. Not "M" intense, just... well, why don't you read and find out. **

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

It was dark, well past midnight, when Farkas jolted upright in his bed. Vilkas shot up as well a few feet away, also woken by the loud racket that only they could hear. With their heightened senses, the wolf twins had heard shouting, muffled and distorted by distance and walls, along with the clatter of steel against stone and… weeping.

Farkas jumped off his mattress and threw on his shirt and boots. His brother followed suit and soon the two were barreling up the stairs of Jorrvaskr. Kodlak came stumbling up behind them, bleary-eyed but worried all the same. The only two that were missing were Aela and Skjor. "Where are they?" Vilkas demanded as they jogged out to the training yard. "They heard it too, I'm sure." The three halted outside the door of the Underforge, the "secret" meeting place of The Circle. Farkas's nostrils flared and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end when he smelled the overwhelming scent of complete and utter fear, along with the wolf-tainted smell of blood.

Farkas's vision took on a strange reddish hue, and he burst through the door of the Underforge without waiting for his brother or mentor, who weren't very far behind. He stopped in his tracks and had to visibly restrain himself from changing right then and there out of fury and disbelief. His eyes flickered to yellow and his teeth began to elongate when he reined in the beast. Vilkas soon stood behind him, mouth agape and silvery eyes wide. Kodlak made a noise of shock and anger.

Islanzadí lay curled on the stones upon her side, her scarlet eyes wide and her mouth open with no sound coming out. Tear tracks ran through the caked-on dirt and blood on her face. Skjor was standing above her, glaring and holding his steel sword above the arm of a monstrous chestnut werewolf, who was snarling down at the gasping elf. Blood was dribbling down the side of her mouth, and Farkas watched in horror as her small body spasmed and jerked before her nightclothes began to stretch and rip as she changed from elf to wolf. Fine, snow-white fur erupted from her tan skin, and the Bosmer shrieked as her bones snapped and her muscles popped.

He couldn't watch her go through it; it was too much. Leaving Kodlak and Vilkas to restrain the changing elf, Farkas charged at Aela, even though she was still in beast form. He hit her square in the abdomen, sending her crashing against the wall and her breath rushing out in a great gasp; his bulk was enough to unbalance her. Reaching up and grabbing her two ears, he yanked her head down to stare him in the face. His blue eyes promised violence and his hands fisted the huntress's ears tighter as he snarled, "What. Have. You. _Done?_"

Aela only glared at him, her yellow eyes gleaming in twisted satisfaction. "Farkas," Vilkas said, his tone disbelieving and warning. The change wasn't going well; not at all. Her fur color was all wrong and her eyes were remaining the bloody crimson color they always were. The phasing was going agonizingly slowly, as well; it usually only took a few seconds. He looked up at his brother, harshly yanking on Aela's ears as he demanded to know what they had been thinking. Skjor stayed silent, leaning up against the stone wall and watching it all unfold. "Farkas!" Vilkas called louder, pinning Islanzadí's changing arms to the ground. Kodlak grunted as the elf thrashed, kneeing him in the stomach. "I'll deal with them later, but you must calm her down! Something's wrong; she hasn't taken the wolf-blood as normal."

The mention of the elf's state seemed to snap Farkas back to his senses and he shoved Aela roughly away. He ran over and sank to his knees by the elf's head, grasping her face between his large hands and forcing her to look at him. "Laní!" He shouted, trying to get her wheeling eyes to focus on him. "Laní, look at me! Listen to me, okay? We're trying to help you! You have to stop moving so much!"

If the elf heard him, she didn't show it. With a monumental heave, she threw the three men off her and howled shrilly. Her pupils dilated and her face began to elongate, her teeth jutting out into milky-white fangs. Farkas's hands shook as he read the absolute terror in her eyes before her elven mind was taken over by the beast. The intelligent light flickered out, replaced by bloodlust and intense strength. She howled again, and with one last crack, the change was complete. Standing in the Underforge was a monstrous, pure white werewolf with scarlet eyes. Something had gone horribly wrong, Farkas was sure; the color was way off, always brown or black, and the eyes never stayed the same color as the two-legged form. Her claws were razor sharp and longer than normal and she was absolutely too big for an elf werewolf.

What once had been Islanzadí snarled at them and leaped out of the Underforge, onto all fours. Her ruff around the neck bristled as she keened again, and she took off towards the city of Whiterun. Farkas, Vilkas and Kodlak watched her go in horror, too stunned and appalled to do anything. She disappeared down the steps as she made her way to Dragonsreach, the Jarl's palace.

A split second of silence occurred before chaos erupted. Vilkas started yelling and accusing Aela and Skjor, while the huntress snarled and snapped at him and the man stared heavily at Farkas. His eyes probed him, as if asking what he was going to do about it. Kodlak was trying to calm the twins down, to no avail. At last, the Harbinger shouted, "SILENCE!" waking up the rest of the non-werewolf Companions. He shooed them back inside before turning to The Circle. With a deadly calm voice, he demanded of Skjor, "What is the meaning of this?"

"She had to be changed," the warrior said evenly. "She knew too much and couldn't be trusted with our secret." He shot Farkas a pointed look and added, "No matter how some of us feel."

"Dammit, Skjor!" Farkas roared, shaking visibly to try and rein in his own beast. "You didn't even give her a _choice. _She didn't want this!"

"To Oblivion with what she wanted!" Aela yelled, shifting back to human form. "She was a threat, a threat we removed. With any luck, she'll leave and never come back." She sneered at him before rounding on Vilkas. "I thought you agreed with us, genius."

"Not to this!" The Nord shouted, not caring about who he awoke. "It is one thing to accept the curse, Aela, but to force it on another is completely different! Look at what's happened—" Terrified screams from the townspeople began to permeate the night, punctuating his sentence nicely. "We can't control her! Something went wrong, and now she's on the loose. Farkas," he demanded. "Change. Go find her. She'll listen to you. Kodlak and I will try to find out why everything is wrong. Bring her back here, if you can, and lock her in the Underforge. Until we know more, she's too dangerous to even be out in the mountains."

Farkas didn't need to be told twice. With one last terrifying glare shot to Aela and her lover, he called upon his wolf spirit and dropped to his hands and knees. A few seconds later, he was a towering, pitch-black wolf. He shot towards the town, scaring the life out of the few townsfolk who didn't know what had happened yet. He pressed his nose to the stones and sprinted after Laní, following her scent up the stairs and to the bridge of Dragonsreach. Two guards lay moaning on the wood, claw marks and teeth punctures dotting their skin and tearing their uniforms. They gasped when they saw him, but Farkas paid them no mind. Lifting his nose to the air, he leaped off the edge of the bridge into the shallow water below. He shot back towards town, following the scent of bloodlust coupled with the faint smell of pine needles.

Back in town, he found more evidence of a massacre. Bystanders lay strewn about the street, some moving and begging for help and some still. Farkas's ears flattened against his skull and he whined subconsciously before continuing towards the shops. In the square outside the Bannered Mare, he found her.

The shop stalls lay broken and scattered in the streets, their goods flung about wildly and their vendors cowering inside the safety of the general goods store. They peered out as they watched in terror the white wolf ransacking the meat stall, her muzzle covered in blood and gore, both from her victims and the meat she was tearing into. The citizens' eyes widened even more when they caught sight of Farkas as he gingerly approached the she-wolf.

She halted her feeding and lifted her blood-streaked face to sniff the air. Farkas was downwind of her, but still close enough she could probably smell him. She turned and regarded him lazily, flicking her tail before returning to her meal. Farkas couldn't help but feel slightly offended; the beast in him considered itself the alpha, and to watch a she-wolf feed without moving over was insulting. But the Nord squashed such thoughts and focused on the relief that she didn't seem to be afraid of him… yet. Perhaps the shreds of Islanzadí floating around in her mind recognized him just enough to control her wolf-spirit's actions.

Farkas approached slowly, ears laid back and his tail low. He was still on all fours so as not to alarm her, but the position was still strangely natural. If he stood up too soon he might frighten her, although she could do the same. But new wolves usually stayed on four paws, the animalistic side more dominant in their first change to really consider anything different.

Laní froze again and this time completely turned from her messy eating. She flattened her white ears and snarled, lashing her tail back and forth and spreading her paws. Farkas backed down, trying to be submissive. Her scarlet eyes glared at him, and his heart sunk to see almost no traces of the intelligent elven woman among them. He only hoped that they would return soon and she would change back so Vilkas and Kodlak could find out what had happened to make her such a strange wolf.

Farkas's sharp eyes noticed a small humanoid figure descending the slope behind the wolf as she turned back to her meal. He growled when he recognized a city guard, armed with a long-reaching pike and sparks dancing off his fingers. Laní was too absorbed to notice the figure as it crept closer, her bloodlust keeping her focused on the raw meat beneath her paws.

With a roar, Farkas leapt over her and snarled at the advancing danger. The man dropped his pike and the magic in his hand flickered out, and Farkas caught the tangy, sharp scent of urine as the man turned and ran back up the hill, crying out to his gods to save him. Farkas turned back to Laní and decided that his beast form was waning. Taking a deep breath, he gathered a huge roar and let it rip from his throat.

The she-wolf stopped eating at once and turned to face him, her snowy fur beginning to stand on edge to the challenge. Quickly, Farkas lunged and sank his sharp teeth into the loose skin on the back of her neck. Islanzadí yelped and twisted, trying to escape, but he rose up on his hind feet and wrapped his muscular arms around her torso, restraining her movements. In this fashion, he lumbered back up to Jorrvaskr, climbing the cliff and clambering over the back wall so as not to alert the townspeople that this is where the two nightmares had come from. The elf was still wrestling to escape his grip as he forced her through the small entrance of the Underforge. With a monumental effort, he shoved her inside and slammed the door behind him. Dropping the she-wolf onto the stones, he collapsed back onto his four paws as the beast within him retreated. He phased back, drawing himself back up onto his feet.

Laní was circling the alter with Aela's blood, snarling and snapping at him every time she passed but not attacking. He watched her as he dressed, snatching up the pile of clothes each of the five members kept by the door for emergencies. Gradually, the elf calmed and sank to the ground, her fur lying flat and her ears pinned against her skull. Her tail was still and she let out a heart-breaking keen as she stretched out on the ground.

Farkas approached cautiously, ignoring the sound of his brother entering behind him. _The beast blood should begin to leave soon, _he thought to himself. He rounded the stone basin slowly and approached the she-wolf's head. "Careful!" His brother whispered urgently. "She's unpredictable. She might—"

"She won't hurt me," Farkas snapped forcefully. He stooped down next to her massive head and stared at her eyes, noticing with profound relief that traces of intelligence and knowledge were beginning to appear there. He smiled at her and tentatively reached out to stroke her soft nose. "You're going to change back in a minute, alright? Oh, wait." His face heated profusely as he thought of something. "Um… Vilkas, you _might _want to get her some clothes." Vilkas smirked as he watched his brother turn red as surely not-so-innocent images cropped up in his mind. Farkas scowled and grumbled, "Go, already," as he turned back to the elf.

Her scarlet eyes were weary, but they were the ones the Nord recognized. He breathed a sigh of relief and sat cross-legged near her head, waiting. Laní stared up at him, her head lying across her two crossed front paws, her scarlet eyes pleading and terrified as the minutes ticked by and nothing happened. Farkas fidgeted nervously; perhaps it was because the change took so long that she wasn't phasing back like she should.

Laní whimpered and shifted, lying down like a domesticated, monstrous dog. Her bulk took up all the space behind the alter; Farkas's back was pressed uncomfortably up against the hard basin. He lost track of time as he sat there, and still she hadn't changed. He stood and stretched, saying, "I'm going to get Vilkas and Kodlak. They'll know what's wrong." Her tail thumped once against the ground in agreement and Farkas spun on his heel, rushing back out into the training yard.

The Nord was exhausted and drained; his muscles ached and his eyes begged for sleep as he trudged towards the doors after he made sure the Underforge was closed securely. Dawn was breaking and the birds were singing, but the wolf inside couldn't find any pleasure; the battle for dominance hours before had left him tired, as well. Farkas pushed open the doors to Jorrvaskr and made his way towards his and his brother's room, finding Vilkas sprawled on his mattress and snoring loudly. He shoved his brother roughly, slurring, "Get up." Vilkas rose unsteadily and yawned, momentarily forgetting that his brother had requested clothes for the elf and that he had forgotten to bring them to him.

"How is she?"

"Bad," Farkas answered flatly. "She hasn't changed back."

Vilkas's eyes widened and he let out a slow breath. "She hasn't?" Farkas shook his head and mechanically plunged his head into the washing basin, scrubbing the sweat and dirt out of his hair and off his face. "That's… That's not good. You've been back for how long?"

Farkas lifted his face from the water and scrubbed it dry with a nearby rag, rubbing off his war paint and staining the cloth black. "Hours. It's dawn now and I got her back inside when it was still really dark." He paused, yawning again. "She's terrified, Vilkas. Did you know that she was scared of us? Before Aela changed her?"

Vilkas looked at his brother, blatant shock written all over his face. Farkas nodded, deciding to forget for a moment his promise to Islanzadí. "She was attacked by a feral and it killed her brother. That's why she was so hard to deal with before. She feared us, brother, and now she's the one of us. One of the monsters that killed her family."

"We did no such thing," Vilkas argued as the two made their way towards Kodlak's bedroom. "Ferals are wild and have no thoughts about what they're doing." He stopped talking as they paused outside the Harbinger's door. Tentatively, Vilkas knocked and waited for permission to enter. When it came, he shoved open the door and marched inside, ready to demand Aela and Skjor's dismissal from the Companions.

Kodlak sat at his table, hunched over with his white head in his hands. Farkas sighed and his shoulders drooped as he stared at his mentor, so defeated and at loss for what to do. Pushing past his brother, he knelt by the old man's chair. "Kodlak?" he asked softly, sounding like a child even to himself. "Kodlak, we need your help. Laní's not changed back and something really bad has happened. But I don't know what or why."

The Harbinger breathed out in a huge gust before he sat up, staring at the man beside him. "Alright," he finally said. "Let me wash and dress and I will meet you in the Underforge, Vilkas. Farkas, you need to sleep." The Nord started to protest, but Kodlak held up a hand and smiled tenderly at him. "You've been up all night, boy, chasing her around and watching over her. We'll take care of _Laní,_" the old man teased, managing to chuckle at Farkas's expression. Said man couldn't believe his mentor was teasing him at a time like this. "and make sure no harm comes to her. I'm sure there's a rational explanation. Now go on," he shooed Farkas out of his room and closed the door behind him, leaving Vilkas and him alone. Kodlak sighed heavily again and sank onto his mattress.

Vilkas crossed his arms. "What do you plan to do with Aela and Skjor? This cannot go unpunished, Kodlak, even if you are nobodies' master. Forcing the beast blood onto an innocent soul is grounds for expulsion."

Kodlak's shoulders drooped even further at his protégé's words. "I don't know," he whispered. "We'll have time to deal with it later. For now, we have to find out why Islanzadí cannot change back. The beasts are unpredictable and she might lose control and go on another rampage. One where Farkas is not so strong."

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><p><strong>This is where things start to get interesting. <strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter is a bit shorter than normal; not by much, only a few hundred words, but I still thought I should give you a heads up. It wouldn't flow as well if I had made it the same length as the others.**

**Thanks so much for all the reviews, everyone! They mean the world to me.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

Islanzadí still hadn't changed.

Farkas spent as much time as was allowable in the Underforge, making sure she was well fed and had pleasant company for at least a little while. Each time he managed to get some time alone, he snuck into the secret cave and visited her. And every time he came, she was worse. She would only lie on the dirty stones and whine, letting him scratch her ears and tell her what he hoped to be funny misadventures.

The Nord told the she-wolf of how he had stumbled upon a mother sabre cat and her cubs and how it chased him half-way up the mountain, of how he had scared a pack of ice-wolves right out of their pelts while in beast form. She would watch him dully and thump her tail and occasionally make an odd rumbling noise, but there wasn't any life in her scarlet eyes anymore.

Aela and Skjor were no help. Farkas swore he would kill them both; "unknowingly" lead them to the Silver Hand or perhaps knock one of them out and dump them in the mountains, making the other of the mated pair as sick with worry as he was. Vilkas told him that it wasn't any use, but that didn't stop him from scowling at them both and snapping when they spoke to him. Kodlak only gave them looks of heavy disappointment and fatigue, and to a certain extent they seemed to be repentant. But no apologies or help were forthcoming and the wolf twins and their mentor were left on their own.

A week after the horrifying change and rampage, Farkas sat in Kodlak's study with his brother and the Harbinger. Drumming his fingers on the table and sighing heavily, he asked for the umpteenth time, "Still nothing?"

"No," they both grumbled. Vilkas snapped his book shut and tossed it away toward the growing pile of discarded, useless volumes. Dropping his head into his hands, he grumbled, "Stop your bellyaching and do something, if you're bored. The elf could use some company, I suppose."

"Take her out hunting," Kodlak offered suddenly. Vilkas shot him a deadpan look, but the old man paid him no mind. "She seems to have stabilized. The beast is at bay and keeping her locked up underground is only depressing her. Take her out to the mountains tonight, Farkas, and teach her how to hunt. The cave bear population is getting too large anyway." Vilkas started to protest, but Kodlak cut him off with a sharp glare. "You can't deny that she's worsening. The fresh air will do her good."

"Sure!" Farkas agreed enthusiastically. Vilkas looked appalled at his brother and mentor.

"Kodlak," the smarter of the wolf twins protested. "We can't be changing. Remember the pact? Our refusal into Sovngarde? We swore off the beast blood. The change Farkas made a week ago was necessary; he saved lives. But this?" Vilkas's fists clenched in his lap. "This is petty. We could just let her roam on her own, for Talos's sake, for all the good it will do!"

"Hush," Kodlak admonished. "It is not _petty,_ Vilkas, and you know that. The elf cannot stay under lock and key for the rest of her life, poked and prodded and studied. That makes us the same as the Silver Hand." The Harbinger's eyes turned gentle. "I cannot bear to see her so unhappy."

Vilkas studied his mentor for a long time, making Farkas impatient to hear the verdict. There was a subtle gleam in Kodlak's eyes, the former noticed, that he was trying to hide. With a gasp, Vilkas realized what it was. "The cure," he breathed. "You found it. You found a cure for us!"

Farkas felt a little at odds with himself at his brother's exclamation. If Kodlak had truly found a cure for the normal lycanthropic Companions, then they could all be rid of their beasts. But to leave Islanzadí alone and scared with no one but the monsters who turned her as kin seemed terribly self-absorbed and unfair.

"Shh," Kodlak demanded. "Sit down, boy." Vilkas obeyed, but his silvery eyes became hard and accusing. The old man smiled gently and said quietly, "I do not know if what I have found will work. But it is more solid than anything I could have hoped for. The only reason I did not tell you was because I am still not certain if it will work. For now, the pact is void. You may change as you please. Right now, the main focus is treating Islanzadí." Vilkas said nothing, just slumped in his wooden chair, mumbling to himself darkly. Kodlak turned to Farkas. "Take your elf hunting. It will do you both good. But please, by the Divines, stay out of populated areas. We don't need a repeat."

Farkas reddened slightly. "She's not _my elf,_" he insisted. Kodlak only chuckled and Vilkas scoffed, making his face heat even more. "What? It's true!"

"Whatever you say, my boy," the Harbinger chortled. "Now be gone! Vilkas and I have research to do." With that, he turned back to his books and Farkas made his way back to the dining hall. It was empty, save for Aela as she read the thin, hastily-scrawled newspaper. Farkas snarled under his breath as he clomped towards the back doors, heading for the training yard. The best way to pass the time until dusk was to hit things; it always made him feel slightly better.

"Whore," he hissed at the huntress as he passed.

"Bastard."

Growling, the Nord slammed the back doors of Jorrvaskr harshly, hoping he made her spill her drink on the paper and down her front. Stomping over to the straw figures, he unsheathed his greatsword. He took his fighting stance, conjuring up a scenario in his brain. He imagined he was surrounded by Silver Hand, out in an open field. Two archers and three warriors, one with a warhammer and two with daggers. No shields. The daggers were silver, as were the heads of the arrows.

Farkas closed his eyes, first checking to make sure he was alone; he didn't accidently want to slice somebody open. He saw the two archers in the back. He'd save them for last; his armor was thick and it'd take a lucky shot to get him with the silver arrows. The silver daggers were the biggest threat; their poisonous metal could easily find weak chinks in his armor. The man with the warhammer would be slow, the weight of his weapon encumbering him. Farkas knew that he'd have to be fast in order to avoid the daggers and keep out of range of the hammer.

The Nord lunged left, sweeping his sword in a wide arc and slashing at the warhammer man's knees. In his fantasy, the warrior stumbled as he tried to dodge, creating an opening. Farkas took advantage and dove for one of the women holding a dagger. She nimbly ducked under his blade and rolled to his right, swinging at his thighs. Her weapon clanked off his heavy armor and the other woman lunged at his exposed back, going for his neck. Farkas whirled and managed to catch her with his sword before she could do any damage. His blade sank into her stomach, and he quickly yanked it free as she slumped to the ground. The man with the warhammer was charging again, and Farkas quickly moved to—

"Oi!"

Farkas stumbled, falling flat on his ass and dropping his sword. He swore loudly and picked it up again, regaining his feet as he whirled to confront the distraction. Njada Stonearm stood smirking up on the porch, her arms crossed over her leather-clad chest. With a jolt, the man realized that the sun was beginning to sink. In an hour or so, he would be leaving with Laní to go hunting. His wolf-spirit hummed its approval and the Nord suddenly felt jittery.

"Wipe that dopey look off your face, it's just me," Njada snapped, making her way over to him. Farkas slung his weapon back into its sheath across his back and scowled down at her, embarrassed at being startled. Islanzadí had been right; he needed to start paying more attention.

The female Nord smacked his arm. "Farkas!" she called again. "By Talos, man, you really are somewhere else, aren't you?" Farkas shrugged, opting to let her do the talking. Njada would eventually tell him what she wanted; it had to be important, because the two hardly ever spoke at all.

"So I've been wondering," the woman began. "I haven't seen that elf woman around here anywhere, not for a while. Do you know anything about that?"

"No," Farkas grunted. "If that's all you wanted then we're done here." He wasn't usually so curt, but he wasn't the best liar ever and if he stuck around for too long, she'd surely see through him. Farkas tried to move past her, back into the building to change clothes before the hunt, but Njada blocked his path.

"I think you're lying," she accused, planting her hands on her hips. "You spent a lot of time with her, and now she's gone. You obviously had something to do with it. It makes me think you're hiding her somewhere, the way you drooled over the scrawny thing. I bet you've got her locked up wherever you disappear to half the time and just won't tell anyone." Her eyes narrowed to slits.

"I wouldn't do that, Stonearm," Farkas seethed. "And Laní's _not _scrawny and I did _not _drool over her. I don't have her locked up and I'm not running off all the time. You're just unobservant. Now get out of my way; I'm tired."

Njada scoffed. "You just proved my point, ice-brain," she snapped. "Nobody here called her 'Laní' but you. And now all of the sudden she's gone missing and you're nowhere to be found in the middle of the day. I'm not stupid like you, Farkas. Tell me what's going on."

"Nothing!" the warrior snarled. "And I'm not stupid, woman. Now move. You have a problem, take it up with Kodlak. He won't tell you anything different." With that, he shoved past the infuriating woman, ignoring her demands that he get back there this instant, or so help her she'd smash him flat into the ground.

_Oh please, _Farkas scoffed as he made his way down to the living quarters and towards his bedroom. _I bet she couldn't even lift my sword, much less hurt me. _He shed his heavy steel armor, scrounging about the room for something old and easily replaceable. Clothes tended to get shredded when shifting forms, and the Nord didn't want to ruin his favorite set of armor.

Finally finding some rough breeches and a tunic with holes in it, he padded back towards the stairs in bare feet and paused on the wooden steps, straining his ears and scenting the air for Njada or any other suspicious Companions. He'd have to be more careful from now on; he couldn't let his fellow shield-siblings suspect him of something entirely so preposterous as kidnapping the enchanting elf and hiding her away. Why on Nirn Njada took him to be some kind of bandit rapist, he had no idea.

When Farkas was sure that the main room was empty and everybody was either at the tavern or in their beds, he carefully and quietly (as quietly as the hulking Nord could, anyway) made his way back outside and into the night.

It was a gorgeous evening, with a warm First Seed breeze carrying the tantalizing scent of mammoth and elk down from the mountains. The sky was clear and billions of stars dotted the black canopy, and Farkas watched with distant interest the twin moons as they began to peek over the horizon. The Nord was never really one to stop and appreciate the world, but time spent with Islanzadí taught him that they were indeed lucky to live in such a time of peace; the civil war had ended shortly after Alduin's defeat three years ago; the Stormcloaks had defeated the Empire and the dragons were rare sights nowadays. There was plenty of gold to go around and people were genuinely happy. The only thing that seemed to be missing was the one who had made it all possible; the dragonborn.

Farkas shook his head and came back down to his senses. As he neared the Underforge, he stopped dead in his tracks. His blue eyes widened and his inner beast stirred and howled in alarm.

All over the secret cave's entrance were the mingled scents of Aela and Skjor.

Farkas flew forward, not particularly caring who woke up with the racket he made as he all but flung the door off its hinges. He barreled inside, nostrils flaring and pupils dilating as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

The cave was empty.

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><p>"She's <em>gone!<em>" Farkas roared as he paced madly by the ancient tree in the center of the city. His brother and Kodlak leaned against the statue of Talos a few feet away. "She's completely and totally _not there._ They took her!" His large hands reached up and clung to his hair. "By the Divines, Kodlak, I swear I'm going to skin them and display their miserable pelts in the dining hall!"

"Calm yourself, pup," the Harbinger said firmly. Farkas ignored him completely, continuing to pace and shout obscene things about his fellow werewolves. "Farkas! Stop this at once," Kodlak finally snapped. "You are not helping her by promising violence."

"Then what in Oblivion am I supposed to do, Kodlak?" Farkas shot back, halting. "We can't trace them. They made sure of that, heading for the damned mountains. I can't follow them without making Njada upset at me even more."

"We can't do anything, brother," Vilkas offered unhelpfully. "They only thing to help you rest easy is the promise of their return; Aela has no other place to come back to and would not dare leave Islanzadí alone. She knows of Kodlak's disapproval and how her position within Jorrvaskr is in question. She can't risk it. Skjor is wise, however insane his decision to change her was. He won't let Aela do anything stupid and will look out for your elf, I believe." He stopped and mulled it over. "Yes, I think he will. He doesn't seem like the type to dump her somewhere and leave without a second thought."

Kodlak nodded his agreement, but Farkas was far from appeased. He was so furious he didn't even pause to argue with the "his elf" notion. "It doesn't matter, Vilkas! They took her away and there's nothing I can do to help her! What if they scare her or hurt her and she goes feral? What are we going to do then?"

The Harbinger and his protégé sighed. "Calm down, Farkas," Kodlak said again. "All we can do now is pray to Talos for their safety and wisdom."

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><p><strong>I really need to stop ending with quotes. <strong>

**So, what would you guys think of the next chapter being from Laní's point of view?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Darth Sayn - Yes, I thought that too. But, the eyes of my character on Skyrim look more scarlet than anything else. At least, they do to me. **

**WARNING! : This chapter is graphic and violent. If you cannot handle blood and gore, I would skip the middle. **

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><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

The first thing the Bosmer noticed was that she was outside. Her shiny black nose began to twitch as she took huge, greedy gulps of the fresh air. The scents swamped her: nightshade and mushrooms, elk and deer and the familiar woodsy smell of nearby wolves. She mechanically thumped her tail as the wolf began to surface, shoving the elven nature back once again to wait for escape in vain.

Laní did not expect to ever return to her elven form. During that horrifying, gruesome change, the beast and dragon spirits within her had clashed violently. The raw power of the two beasts of nature had almost completely destroyed the humanoid part of her. Even now, wolf and dragon souls warred inside, slashing and hacking and fighting for control over her body. It was a dreadful stalemate, one that had cost her her normalcy; so long as the two fought to control her, she was locked in the beast form.

She had seen the shock and horror in the eyes of Farkas just before the uncontrollable bloodlust had taken over that first night; it had cut her to her very core. The elf knew, even then, that she looked vastly different. Once the beast had subsided and retreated to fight the dragon for control, she managed to figure out why.

The color of her fur came from the dragon soul. Islanzadí, every time she had used the Thu'um when battling for Skyrim's freedom from the World Eater, had seen her dragon spirit. It was a magnificent beast, with pure, snowy scales and scarlet eyes not unlike her normal ones. It was large and powerful and full of anger and rage that had fueled her throughout her seemingly suicidal mission to liberate the land of the Nords. Now, it set that fury onto the beast, who had invaded its home.

Islanzadí's elven mind was still intact, if only just. She had minimal control over what she could and couldn't do: she could understand the human language and react to it however she deemed fit, but that was all. Every other part of her nature was governed by both the dragon and wolf inside. It took all her strength, what little she had, to keep them from completely erasing her and going feral. She knew that she was more powerful than she should be due to the duel inside; she couldn't allow herself to become wild. People would get hurt, just like Ramanor.

As the world around Laní began to come into focus once more, she recognized another scent. Her bloody eyes snapped open and her lips curled back over her fangs into a gruesome snarl as she leapt onto her over-sized paws, fur bristling. Aela watched her with rapt interest, standing a few feet away.

"Good," the huntress said. "You're awake." Islanzadí growled and stalked closer, letting the warning noises rip from her throat. The beast inside took dominance for a split second over everything, making the elf twitch as she analyzed all the different ways to tear the human apart. Aela smirked, as if she knew what the elf had just thought. Laní heaved against the beast and shoved it back, clearing her mind.

"I almost envy you," the woman continued, and this time the Bosmer let loose a snarl that was all her own. "I've never seen such a beautiful pelt or had the chance to be in touch with my wolf spirit for more than a few hours. But a week…" Aela shook her head. "It must be incredibly intense."

_If only you knew, _Laní managed to muse to herself. Being outside of the cramped cave had given her slightly more control, allowing the elf to think for herself again.

"Anyway, elf," Aela said. "Skjor and I have decided to do you a favor, an… apology, of sorts." She sighed. "We didn't know what would happen to you. We never meant for you to… well, be unable to change back, and we regret the price you had to pay. But we don't regret our decision." Aela squared her shoulders and Islanzadí's eyes flashed. "I could not allow an outsider to threaten the way of life of my family."

The elf stared at Aela for a long time from her four paws, wrestling with her two inner demons for what seemed like an eternity. Both of them were howling for Laní to shred the Nord, to pay back all the pain and terror she had suffered. But the rational, forgiving side of her meekly struggled to break free. Islanzadí knew what it was like to have everything you knew be taken away from you. She understood where Aela was coming from, about wanting to protect those she loved. Granted, her logic was horribly warped and twisted, but the elf could empathize just enough to not be hostile. At least for now.

The silence stretched on and the huntress seemed to understand the internal war waging inside her companion. "Try standing on your hind feet," she advised. "The stance is more humanoid and lets you think a bit clearer."

Slowly, the she-wolf rolled her weight to her back paws and pushed, rising up and towering over the Nord woman. Almost instantly, the internal battle of the nature spirits lost its footing and the clamor ceased a little. Islanzadí sighed in relief before staring down at Aela. She blinked and leaned down, puffing into her face and blowing the huntress's auburn hair. Aela smiled a little, saying, "I'll take that to mean you understand. Although I'm sure you'll have words for me when you shift. But eyes on the prey, not the horizon." The Bosmer nodded, just glad to be able to think for herself once more. The war was still waging, but deeper inside. Until one of the beasts lost, she would be unable to regain her elven form.

"This is Gallows Rock," Aela continued. "A Silver Hand camp. Inside, their leader tortures hundreds of us, some feral, some not. We're going to exterminate them and kill Krev the Skinner. I shouldn't need to explain where the name comes from. Skjor's ran ahead and he'll be waiting for us inside."

Islanzadí growled, a deep, threatening sound rumbling from her chest. The elf wanted nothing more to do with Aela and Skjor, no matter how empathetic she was towards their thinking. It didn't change the fact that they had stolen her life, her future. They had made her into the one thing she feared most: the monster that brutally slaughtered her brother and would have done the same to her. The Bosmer hated the wolf inside, had never wanted to be this way. It was all their fault, and she could never forgive them.

Aela seemed confused as she raised her eyebrows. "What? I thought you'd enjoy a little fighting and blood, being in the beast form."

Laní snarled and snapped her teeth, allowing the fur covering her muscular body to rise. The huntress's eyes widened and she took a tentative step back. The Bosmer's scarlet eyes flashed and for a moment the wolf inside managed to claw its way to the top, the dragon close behind. She shoved them both back down again and growled once more, shaking her head no. Finally, Aela seemed to understand as the once-elf turned her back and began to lumber away.

"Wait!" she called. "You have to do this, Islanzadí. You have to remember what these people will do to you, to us!" The huntress rushed forward and grabbed a fistful of the elf's snowy fur. "You're one of us now, whether you like it or not," Aela reminder her harshly. "They don't care about how you became what you are. They'll track you down and kill you, but only if you're lucky. Most aren't; I've seen what they do, elf. Unspeakable tortures." Aela's eyes turned flinty and Laní couldn't stop herself from listening. "They'll find you, find us; Kodlak, Vilkas. _Farkas._"

At the hulking Nord's name, Islanzadí's ears flattened and she ceased the snarl that was threatening to break free. Aela noticed straightaway and gave a half-hearted smirk. "Ah, so the rumors are true. You are sweet on each other. Remember, girl, what you encountered in the Cairn with him. Remember what they said; they weren't kidding." The elf let out a small whine and relaxed her tense muscles, much to the huntress's delight. "You must help me stop them. You can prevent that from happening to him, to all of us." There was a pause as Aela seemed to think something over. She swallowed and awkwardly added, "Laní." She had never used the nickname; the elf had given it to Farkas only. But it seemed to always soften her up, just a little.

Finally, Laní unpinned her ears and allowed Aela to lead her towards the camp. The huntress was smirking hugely; she had waited for an entire week for this. She had wanted to take the new wolf out and test her ever since that change, but Farkas never left her alone. Now was the perfect time to act. The Silver Hand wouldn't know what to make of the Bosmer.

"Alright,"Aela said as they crouched behind a small hill not far from the camp. The main building was a tall, sturdy fortress. "Skjor's already inside. There are still some Silver Hand wandering around outside, and I want you to take them on alone. I'll be watching from over there," she pointed to a pile of boulders behind the fortress. "Howl when you're done and we'll head in. But try not to die on me, alright?"

If Islanzadí could have scoffed, she would have. With a curt nod and a lick of her chops, the she-wolf sprinted towards the camp and her hind feet. It felt wonderful to be able to think clearly again, without having to concentrate on keeping your sanity.

Near the entrance to the building were three men, all armed. One with a bow, one with a shortsword and steel shield and the other with a greatsword. As Laní neared them, she threw back her head and let a long, jubilant howl rip from her chest. The warriors spun around and before they could cry out in shock, she pounced on the man with the greatsword, all the weapons silver.

She tore at him, her razor sharp claws cutting through armor and flesh like butter. She snapped her jaws near his ear as he screeched and writhed, his partners too stunned to move and help. In seconds, the man was dead with deep, oozing gouges sliced throughout his abdomen. Islanzadí turned her bloody muzzle towards his comrades and barked, baring her crimson-stained teeth. The men braced themselves, their own faces setting into deep scowls. Despite the bravado, the elf could smell their delicious terror of her. They had never seen anything like her before, and it was obvious: they were mortified.

"Demon mongrel!" the archer spat as he knocked an arrow. "Die!" As the man released the taught string, the she-wolf snarled and dove forward, the silver-tipped arrow piercing her ear. She let out a shrill howl of pain before she swiped at him, her claws catching his face. The silver in her ear burned and stung in her blood, the poisonous metal taking its toll.

The archer shrieked and clawed at his ruined face. Dark rivers of blood gushed from the gashes and his now-empty eye socket, his left eye now trampled on the stones underfoot. The man with the silver sword swung at Laní, but she nimbly backtracked and lunged for him, pinning him to the ground. Her claws dug into his chest and he howled in pain, his cries mingling with that of his disfigured comrade. The elf sank her gored claws into his flesh and ripped savagely at his neck with her teeth, all the while trying to find his heart and rip it from his body, still beating.

She finally found it and crushed it in her massive paw. His cries of anguish had long since died with him, but she continued to dig into him nonetheless, feeding on his bloody body and entrails. She felt the poison from the arrow in her ear recede as she took her final bite before returning to the archer. She hadn't realized that he had died as well; the blood loss from the deep furrows in his face and left his skin pale and brittle, like a ghost. She sniffed him contemplatively before leaving his body alone and dropping back onto four paws. Immediately it was harder to think and rationalize. Either way, the elf knew that the bigger her bloodlust, the better in this context.

With that thought in mind, she sprinted back towards Aela, her white fur spattered with gore and her face dripping with the blood of her foes.

The other she-wolf was waiting on the rocks like she promised. Aela grinned wolfishly as the white wolf came into view and she hopped down from her perch. "Nice work, pup," she praised. "I could smell their fear from all the way back here. Now let's go. The sun will be rising in a few hours and we need to be back at Jorrvaskr before the town wakes up."

As Aela finished speaking, the huntress dropped to her hands and knees. Her back arched, her bones creaked, and within seconds Laní was joined by another werewolf, this one considerably smaller, but not by any means compared to a human. The chestnut wolf jerked her head forward, and with a duel howl the two loped off towards the fort.

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><p>Laní lunged forward, claws outstretched towards Krev the Skinner. Her mind was hazy with fury at the scent of death: she could see Skjor's body lying broken and mangled a few feet away. Aela was howling, her head thrown back and tail between her legs as she mourned for her lost lover. The elf had had little connection with man who had ruined her life, but the fact that he had fought for her and introduced her to Kodlak made his untimely death sting.<p>

The leader of the Silver Hand whirled around, brandishing an enchanted silver greatsword. Sparks flew everywhere as the blade sank into Laní's shoulder, sending her crumpling to the ground and whimpering pathetically in pain. Her once-white fur was matted and stained with blood and gore, some of it her own. The wound smarted and burned, the fire from the silver entering her bloodstream and making its way to her heart. She had to feed if she wanted to counteract the poison, but Krev was the only one in the room. There was nothing to save her except his death.

The Skinner smirked and laughed, an ominous, twisted sound. Daintly, he drew patterns with the tip of his sword in her fur. "My my," he cooed. "Look at you, scum. I've never seen something quite so strange. What blundering mistake did your foolish leaders make to mark you so, hmm?" He brought the point to her throat and pressed, dark beads of blood staining its tip and making Islanzadí snarl in pain. "All you have to do is phase back, lovely," he purred. "Then the silver won't burn anymore and I'll give you a comfortable cage to curl up in." His eyes flashed cruelly. "Or you could stay in your wretched dog form and I'll slowly skin you alive. I didn't get my name for nothing, you know," he chuckled darkly.

Islanzadí took the advantage of his distraction and swiped at his knees with her claws. The motion made her heart beat faster and the fire inside flare brighter, but she bit back the howl that threatened to break free. The wolf and dragon warring inside fought harder for control, to try and save her. But it was no use.

Krev cursed colorfully as her claws sliced through his chain-mail armor and sank into his thighs. "Why you little—"

His threat was cut off as a sickening snap echoed throughout the cavern. A blade protruded from his chest and twisted sharply. Aela's face suddenly appeared over his shoulder as she hissed, "_This,_" she twisted savagely again, and the Skinner gurgled in pain, blood frothing in his mouth. "Is for Skjor and all my kin." With a yank and a sickening slurp, she yanked the blade free and Krev slumped to the ground, blood pooling under his still body. Aela stood above Islanzadí, panting and naked. "Feed," the huntress commanded, her voice cracking and hollow. She turned back to Skjor's lifeless body and knelt by him, seemingly oblivious to her nudity. Gently, she stroked her long fingers across his cold cheek as the elf dragged herself towards Krev's body and hungrily snapped up his still-warm flesh. Immediately, her veins cooled and the poison receded.

Aela made no signs of moving, and, trying to be helpful and preserve her shield-sister's dignity, Laní drew herself up onto her hind feet and lumbered over to a large chest. Inside there were some simple clothes and heavy armor, but the elf only took the clothes. She padded over to the huntress and as carefully as she could, draped them over her trembling body.

Aela mumbled something so quietly even Islanzadí couldn't hear it. Cocking her head to the side, she nudged the Nord with her snout. Suddenly, the huntress stood and whirled towards the hulking white werewolf. "Go!" she shouted, angrily brushing at her eyes. "Get out of here! Leave!" She turned back to Skjor's mangled and broken corpse. "Track them down, every last one of them. Maul them. Kill them. Torture them, I don't care. Just go; make them pay." Aela took a deep, shaky breath. "I will bring him back to Whiterun and prepare a proper burial. Meet me at the city gates tomorrow before dawn." With that, she turned back to her dead mate's side and deftly slipped on the clothes that had fallen to the floor.

Islanzadí watched her mourning shield-sister and fellow wolf for a moment before turning and padding back out of the room. She had no intention of following Aela's directions; killing the Skinner had been more than enough to satisfy the Bosmer's thirst for blood.

The caverns and winding halls were silent as the bloodied wolf traipsed back through them and out into the morning sun. Her mind cleared and the internal battle quieted once more before she scented the air. The breeze was blowing towards her, so she couldn't smell the two figures silently making their way towards her.

Until a thick rope as slung around her neck.

The she-wolf crashed to the ground, yelping in shock before snarling and thrashing in blind fury. The attackers shouted in victory and hauled her by the end of the noose up over the crest of the hill and out of sight. The elf clawed at her throat, trying to cut through the collar, but it was so rough and thick and strong that her claws only managed to sever a few threads.

Once a safe distance away, the two remaining Silver Hand tethered her to a tree before producing more of their blasted ropes from the satchels across their backs. As they approached, Laní barked and lashed out, the dragon and beast spirits fueling her on in rage.

But the captors weren't deterred. The largest one, a massive, brawny Ork merely lifted his massive warhammer high over his head and brought it crashing down onto her skull; not enough to kill her, but merely make her black out.

The last thing Islanzadí had time to do before the steel made contact with her head was let out one short, shrill howl, before everything went black.


	7. Chapter 7

**You know, it's funny how after you update almost every day for a week straight, and then skip a few days, how long it feels since you've uploaded something. I almost apologized for the long wait, but it's only been, like, three days. **

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

"Farkas."

"What?"

"You're moping again!"

"I am not!"

Vilkas and Farkas proceeded to stare each other down in the dining hall. The main, open room in Jorrvaskr felt strangely empty—despite the humming chatter of the other regular warriors—what with missing two key members of the Companions. Aela and Skjor had stolen Islanzadí from the Underforge the day before, and the remaining members of The Circle hadn't seen or smelled neither hide nor hair of any of them.

Vilkas broke their petty contest first with a scowl. "I'm just as frustrated with you as I am them, it seems."

Farkas didn't let this get to him. He jabbed at his loaf of bread and hunk of venison with a sour expression on his rugged face. "And why is that?"

The smarter of the werewolf twins slammed his fist on the table, making Ria and Athis jump and glare at him. "Because," Vilkas hissed under his breath. "You're putting that elf in front of the rest of us! Kodlak and I have been doing nothing but research for the past week." He glared at his hulking brother, who was still glowering at his supper. "Where have you been? What have you been doing?" Vilkas didn't give him time to answer. "Babying the whelp and snapping at anyone who says good day! What has gotten into you?"

"Nothing," Farkas sighed. "I'm just worried is all."

"Well, snap out of it," Vilkas remarked flatly before returning to his own supper. Farkas heaved another sigh and ceased picking at his food. He glanced at the door again, casting out his senses for what seemed like the millionth time to try and pick up any traces of the returning werewolves.

This time, his heightened hearing picked up the light tread of someone just outside the huge doors. They paused for a moment, and Farkas inhaled deeply and breathed out in a monumental sigh of relief, which was quickly followed by an almost-irrepressible fury: it was Aela. Her distinct sweat-and-snowberries smell relieved the ache in his chest at last; they had finally returned. Skjor must be finding a way to get Laní back into the Underforge.

Just as Farkas rose from his seat and began to tromp towards the door, intent on wringing the huntress's scrawny little conniving neck, the doors opened and she waltzed in. Immediately, the warrior stopped in his tracks, and he heard Vilkas stand up abruptly behind him; Aela smelled of utter despair, and the thick, cloying scent blood and death.

She didn't stop or question them as the twins stalked forward and grabbed her arms, one on each side, and towed her back into the evening. Farkas's nostrils flared and his heart accelerated in panic; he could smell the Bosmer on her, but not anywhere else: the once-elf hadn't come back with her.

As soon as they were a safe distance away from the headquarters, Farkas released Aela's arm and whirled to face her, his lip curling in a snarl. "Where is she?" he demanded, completely ignoring the somber mood of his fellow wolf. When Aela offered no answer, he clenched his fists and growled, "Dammit, woman, you better tell me where—"

"Skjor is dead."

Farkas stopped ranting, his jaw going slack at Aela's blunt revelation. Vilkas, too, seemed to lose control over himself for a moment before her asked in an uncharacteristically soft voice, "What?"

"He's dead," the huntress said again, and this time her voice cracked. "The… The Skinner got him. Islanzadí and I were too late, we couldn't save him." She took a deep, shaky breath. "I brought his body back to Jorrvaskr for a proper burial."

Farkas's old nature kicked in, for a moment blotting out some of the intense rage he felt for his shield-sister. He moved forward and draped one thick arm around her shoulders. "Oh," he said simply, at loss for words. He hadn't been particularly close to the war veteran, but had highly respected him and looked at him as a superior. "I… I'm going to miss him."

Aela choked out a hollow laugh, and even Vilkas put a tentative hand on her shoulder. It had been no secret of her and Skjor, that they were a mated pair. His loss was a terrible blow not just to The Circle, but a highly personal wound to the huntress; the flame for revenge could burn for a long time, bright and hot, in the heart of a werewolf at losing their mate.

"Me too," Aela mumbled before pulling herself together and squaring her shoulders. "I must speak to Islanzadí. We have much to discuss." She made to move toward the Undeforge, but Vilkas barred her way, his face a perfect stoic mask. Only his brother could see the slight confusion in his features.

Farkas's brow furrowed and his hands curled into balls at his sides once more. "What do you mean?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You didn't bring her back with you?"

Aela's eyes flashed for a moment, befuddled. "No. I told her to meet me outside of the city before dawn today. I was late, so I assumed she came in without me. She's not here?" Farkas shook his head no, and the huntress's face turned disbelieving. "Then she hasn't returned." It wasn't a question.

There was a split second of silence before Farkas began throwing a barrage of questions at Aela. His blue eyes were wide with panic and worry and he began gesturing vaguely with his hands wildy. "Where was the last time you saw her? Was she hurt? Did you tell her to go somewhere else? Are you sure you got all the Silver Hand? Did you smell her anywhere nearby when you left? Which direction did she go in?"

Aela completely ignored his attack of inquires as her expression became one of deep concentration. Vilkas was pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation and anger and Farkas was still hurling questions at her when she finally held up her hand to silence him. Her face was set in a way Farkas had rarely seen: guilt and fear.

"I told her to track down the remaining Silver Hand. Alone." The huge Nord sucked in a sharp gasp, but Aela wasn't done. "I don't know how far away she went or in which direction, but…"

"…But _what?_" Farkas exploded when she hesitated.

"I heard a howl."

Vilkas shot the huntress an "…_And?_" look and Farkas glared blackly at her. "It wasn't very far away and it was cut short. I didn't even think about it until now; I assumed it was hunters that had stumbled upon a pack of canines." She paused yet again. "It may have been her."

Farkas wasted no time in dashing as fast as he could back into Jorrvaskr, Aela and Vilkas hot on his heels. The trio ignored the exclamations of the other irritated Companions as they hurtled towards Kodlak's room, where the Harbinger spent almost all his time studying. Throwing the door open so that it banged loudly against the opposite wall, Farkas and his companions spilled into the room. "Kodlak!" they yelled.

The old man looked up from his book, not at all surprised to see them or the manner in which they entered. Closing his book carefully, he spared Aela one hard stare before saying calmly, "Yes?"

"Islanzadí's been captured by Silver Hand!"

"We don't _know _that," Vilkas seethed. He turned to his mentor, who looked so shocked it would have been funny in any other situation, and began to explain since both Aela and Farkas weren't exactly able to speak. The former had slumped to the ground, head in her hands, in despair and the latter was near incoherent with worry and anger. "Aela and Skjor—" the wolf-man stumbled a bit over his fallen comrade's name. "—took her out somewhere to wipe out their cult. Aela came back without her, and with Skjor's… body." Vilkas's shoulders slumped. "He was killed by Krev the Skinner. She doesn't know where the elf went, only that she hasn't returned and heard a howl not far from Aela's location. It was abruptly cut off."

"Kodlak!" Farkas exploded. "You have to let us go after her. We can't just leave her out there! They'll kill her or something worse and make her go feral." He gritted his teeth. "Let me go find her."

Kodlak wasted no time. "Certainly, my boy," he said quickly, rising from his seat. "Aela will accompany you; she is the best tracker amongst us. Do you wish to go, Vilkas?" The warrior hesitated for a split second, mulling it over, before nodding. "It's decided, then. You three will leave _immediately _to search for her. I will remain here and make the preparations for Skjor's funeral." He placed a comforting hand on the huntress's stiff shoulder. "Talos guide you. Now go!"

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><p>"I can't believe I'm doing this," Vilkas grumbled as the trio sprinted out of the city. "I swore I would never change until the cure is found."<p>

"This is important," Farkas shot back as they neared the river. "Our shield-sister is in danger and there's no other way." The three hurtled to a stop at the edge of the water. Shedding their armor and stashing it in the worn satchels they had each brought, they each began to change. Aela went first, falling to her knees and arching her back as she called upon her wolf spirit. Vilkas was next, throwing back his head and letting a deep, baritone howl rip from his chest as his bones snapped and his muscles stretched and morphed into something different. Dark, sooty-gray fur grew from his skin as the change completed.

As soon as his brother was finished, Farkas bent over at the waist and hunched his shoulders as the familiar heat and brute strength washed over him. Black fur erupted from his skin and he shot up in height as his face elongated and his teeth became fangs. He growled when the change was complete and dropped to all fours, digging his claws into the peat as he shot forward, letting Aela take the lead as she led them west. To the human eye, they were nothing but blurs as they followed the river.

They passed Graywinter Watch within the hour and skirted around the base of the looming mountains, finally leaving the river's edge as it curved south. In the distance, Farkas's keen eyes picked up the large, towering fortress of the place he now knew was Gallows Rock.

They leapt the stone fence and immediately separated, each going in an opposite direction to search for any signs of the white she-wolf. Farkas pressed his nose the dirt and circled north, while Vilkas went south and Aela continued west.

Mere seconds after the three split up did a long, warning howl sound from Vilkas's direction. Farkas whirled from the chest he was inspecting and loped quickly over to his brother, his ears perked. Aela joined him a moment later, and the big grey wolf pointed with his snout due south. None of them could see anything in the distance, except the faint shimmer of water from the river they had just left, but Farkas was acutely aware of a familiar scent: blood and pine needles.

He shot forward, not waiting for his fellow wolves as he followed the scent with concentration he didn't even know he possessed. The smell was faint, having been lain more than twenty-four hours ago, but it was there.

Farkas snarled in exasperation when he came to edge of the river. The trail ended here: she had crossed over, most likely dragged. He could smell the scent of two other beings, one Nord and another something that he guessed to be Ork, mingled with hers. He paced along the river's edge as he waited for his companions to catch up. When they did, Vilkas sat on his haunches and appeared thoughtful; if a wolf can do something like that. Aela approached the water, her nose quivering as she drank in the scents around her.

Farkas was so engrossed in his pacing that he hadn't even bothered looking across the river. Only when Vilkas let out a bark of surprise did he look up from his massive paws. There, across the raging rapids of the river and set into a sturdy cliff face, was a stone building. The wooden doors were hanging off their hinges and a couple of drooping, rotting crates were stacked about, but suddenly Aele leapt into the water and paddled across. The twins watched from the other bank as she shook out her fur and padded up to the building, pressing her nose to the stones under her paws. She turned back to them and barked before dashing inside; there was no mistaking it. Laní was here.

Farkas plunged into the rushing water without a second thought, powerfully swimming through the raging current. He heard the loud splash a second later as his brother followed him and pulled himself out of the water once across, not even bothering to shake himself dry before bounding inside after Aela.

The place had obviously been abandoned; it smelled mostly of dust and there were cobwebs over every surface. Farkas's fur began to bristle as the Bosmer's scent became more prominent, and he shouldered past Aela and began trotting down the one open hallway. There were empty cells lining the walls, skeletons and rats inhabiting most of them. The trio followed the trail all the way down the hall, until it veered off abruptly. Farkas paused and looked up from the ground, having had his nose pressed to it. Her scent led into a cell with a gaping hole inside.

Aela pushed past him and squeezed through the narrow opening and into the cell before poking her head into the passageway. Her fur began to rise and she snarled quietly before continuing, Farkas and Vilkas close behind.

The passage was cramped and dark. Farkas pinned his ears back and his lip curled into a snarl as he stepped into a puddle of something wet and warm; he didn't even have to look to see what it was. It smelled strongly of the elfling and he knew without a doubt it was her blood. They continued, much faster, until the hallway suddenly opened up into a large cavern*.

There was a spiral wooden staircase leading up to a large platform where four Silver Hand stood, hunched over a huge table. They hadn't seen the three wolves enter. All along the walls, huge cages contained crumpled forms, some furry and some not. The smell of decay and dried (and fresh) blood was nearly overpowering as the three slipped in silently, scanning each cage for the shockingly white fur of the elf. They stuck to the shadows, circling the room and shooting glares at any inhabitants of the various cages that saw them. If the prisoners wanted to escape, then they would have to keep quiet.

They finally spotted her, slumped awkwardly in a much bigger cage—far away from all the others—to accommodate her immense size. Farkas let out a harsh, involuntary snarl when he saw her condition. Her once-white fur was smeared and crusted with blood, streaking down her back and legs. Her tail was bent at a weird angle and even from where they were, the three Companions could hear her labored, wheezing breaths. Her eyes were dull and unfocused and her face was marred by a great many cuts and gouges.

Before Farkas could stop himself, he shot out of the shadows and over to her cage, howling in rage. Islanzadí jerked in surprise before yelping in pain. Her scarlet eyes met his and he tried to let her know that it was him, that he was coming to free her. She seemed to understand, at least somewhat, for she settled back into her uncomfortable-looking position on the ground.

The four warriors atop the platform let out sharp cries of surprise upon seeing him. The Ork that Farkas had smelled earlier let out a guttural growl, snarling, "Dirty scum! Do you wish to join her in misery?" Farkas whirled towards him, splaying his paws and raising his fur so it stood almost straight up. Aela bounded up to him at his side, drawing herself up on her hind legs as Vilkas materialized on his left, mimicking her position.

The Silver Hand laughed, brandishing their weapons as they climbed down from their studies. Islanzadí whimpered in her cage and shifted, trying to see, but either she was too hurt or too weak, for she soon was still again. Farkas snarled, a brutal, terrifying sound as he stood on his back feet, towering well over eight feet tall. Even Islanzadí's head barely cleared his shoulder whenever she stood on two feet.

The warriors stopped for a moment, deterred, but with a few mumbled obscenities pressed towards them. With a savage howl, Aela lunged forward, grabbing the nearest one with her clawed paw-hand by the skull. She brutally flung him against the ground and growled in bloodthirsty delight at his howls of pain as his spine snapped in half. Farkas looked away as an arrow whizzed by, grazing his arm and finding its way through the bars of the elf's cage and imbedding itself in her left back leg. She yelped again, and the black wolf's vision suddenly took on a red hue.

He didn't even bother to check and make sure Vilkas stayed by her cage. In his fury, Farkas flew forward, claws outstretched, and bowled the nearest attacker over—the massive Ork. The Orismer grunted in pain as he crashed to the ground, but Farkas ignored that. Digging his sharp claws into the monster's sides, he ripped the green skin from his abdomen, all the while snapping and tearing at the Ork's neck. The Silver Hand warrior gurgled and thrashed in dying agony as Farkas's claws tore at his ribs and lungs and entrails, turning them into an unrecognizable mush. When the Orismer finally died, the wolf ripped off one of his muscular arms and tossed it into Islanzadí's cage, knowing she would need it to fend off the effects of the poisonous silver arrows.

Turning away from his kill, Farkas noted that Vilkas had wisely attacked the archer, thus preventing her from shooting any more arrows at them. He currently had her pinned to the wall and was tearing at her everywhere; nothing was spared from his savage onslaught. Farkas rushed for the final warrior, but Aela beat him to it; she flung herself at the last remaining Nord, who was brandishing a silver sword and banded iron shield.

With a horrifying crunch, Aela was suddenly a massive, barely-moving pile of chestnut fur at the warrior's feet. Thick crimson blood oozed from a deep, long gash in her chest. Her breath rattled and wheezed in her chest, but she glared blackly up at the Silver Hand with such venom that he backed away a few feet. Suddenly blinded with intense fury like he had never felt before, Farkas howled and dove for the man, catching him by surprise from the side. He sank his long claws into the man's chest while his jaws closed around his neck. With a horrible tearing sound, the man's severed head was flung against the wall and his chest ripped open, displaying his still-beating heart. Farkas snatched it up in his jaws and ate it out of savage bloodlust and victory. He had escaped almost uninjured.

He turned back to Aela, who was lying in a heap where he had left her. Dragging the dead body over to her, Farkas crouched by her side and nudged her with his nose, all bitterness towards his shield-sister evaporated. Her breathing was shallow and empty, and for a moment Farkas thought it had stopped. Mercifully, she shifted and snapped up one of the man's fingers, regaining some of her strength. The Divines must have been with them, for the blade had narrowly missed the she-wolf's heart by mere inches.

With a sigh of relief, Farkas beat back his excited beast spirit and phased back to his hulking human form. He hurriedly shrugged the leather satchel off his back and threw on whatever his fingers touched first; a pair of woolen breeches. He didn't even bother with a tunic. Dashing over to Islanzadí's cage, he hammered at the lock with the fallen Ork's warhammer until it clattered to the ground and the door swung open. Vilkas had changed back as well and was hurriedly doctoring Aela, having been the prudent one and thought of bringing bandages and healing potions.

Farkas rushed into the cage and fell to his knees by the massive she-wolf's head. Her scarlet eyes were sparkling with relief and a huge, goofy grin lit up his face as he examined her for any major injuries. Luckily, they had gotten to her quick enough that the sick monsters hadn't had enough time to properly torture her. Most of the cuts and injuries were shallow, with the exception of one massive slice across her left shoulder. It had begun to close and heal, but her white fur was plastered to her skin and keeping it from closing all the way. Farkas deftly pried the silky fur out of the wound and called, "Vilkas!"

His brother came trotting over, having finished with Aela, who was hungrily feeding off the rest of the dead Nord. Vilkas began to rummage around in his pack again and brought out a water skin as well as a large healing potion. "Alright," Farkas said in relief as his brother handed the supplies to him. "We're gonna get you cleaned up and then take you back to Jorrvaskr, okay, Laní?" He looked down at her, hoping to get some kind of acknowledgement, before grinning again. Vilkas scoffed in bitter annoyance.

The white she-wolf had fallen into a content sleep, her head lying across Farkas's lap.

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><p><strong>*according to the wiki, this actually doesn't exist in the abandoned prison. But I needed to make a few changes for the purpose of the fiction. Hopefully, there are no complaints.<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry for the longer wait. I just couldn't get the initiative to start. But once I got the ball rolling, the words just kept coming. I hope you guys like the chapter, and thank you _so much _for all the favs and alerts. It's crazy how many there are: upwards of thirty. I'm not exaggerating when I say you guys ROCK!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

Islanzadí grunted in mild pain as she shifted positions on the dusty Underforge floor. Three days ago Farkas, Vilkas and Aela had come for her and freed her from the tormentors. Remnants from the poisonous silver metal of their weapons still lingered in her veins, but not enough to cause her anything more than discomfort. Sighing heavily through her nose and watching the door, ears strained to hear all the happenings, the Bosmer winced as the wound on her shoulder smarted. Tilma, the maid at Jorrvaskr, had given Kodlak some stitches and told him some old home remedies for the gash. It was sewn shut, but it was slightly pussy and reddish looking around the edges. The elf hoped it wasn't getting infected.

The familiar sound of heavy boots against the stone walkway made Laní sit up on her haunches, the top of her head nearly brushing the ceiling. Although she couldn't stand up in the Underforge, the internal battle over her body was becoming easier and easier to ignore as time wore on. The wolf and dragon were still raging, but it didn't take near as much effort to block them out as it had a week ago. For that, Islanzadí was thankful. Perhaps, in time, she would be able to speak and give The Circle the answers they needed to help her.

The door to the cave slowly slid open and Kodlak slipped in, alone. The elf tilted her head to the side in confusion; the Harbinger was often too busy to come visit her by himself. He usually came with Vilkas so they could study her and try and make heads or tails of her condition.

Kodlak turned and offered her a weary smile before coming to lean against the stone basin in the middle of the room. "Greetings, Islanzadí," he said. "I hope you don't mind my visiting. I just needed some time away from all the excitement."

At this, the elf's ears pricked. She had heard whispers between Vilkas and Farkas that the Harbinger had found a cure for the lycanthropic members of The Circle. While she was happy to hear the rumors and genuinely excited for the prospective patients, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of loneliness and neglect every time she thought about it; whatever Kodlak had discovered would have no effect on her. The strange mixture of beast and dragon blood would prevent anything like that from happening.

Kodlak reached out and placed a hand on her uninjured shoulder, sensing her sorrow. "I wish I could do more for you," he said quietly, stroking her soft fur. "It's a real shame you cannot speak; with all the differences between you and the rest of the werewolves, I wouldn't be surprised if you could. None of the rest of us can." At that, the Harbinger chuckled before turning weary again.

A moment of silence passed between them as Islanzadí struggled to try and understand what had him so unhappy. As if sensing her confusion, Kodlak explained, "Aela is not coping well with the loss of Skjor. I thought that sending her out with Farkas would tempt her back to her old nature, but…"

Islanzadí looked down at him at the mention of the hulking Nord warrior. She hadn't been informed that he had left Jorrvaskr. "Oh," Kodlak said when he caught her flashing eyes. "I didn't know you hadn't been told. I sent Farkas to the Glenmoril Coven." Islanzadí recoiled, having heard of the nest of powerful witches living in the mountains. Kodlak took no notice and continued. "I believe that the creatures who made us what we are—the Glenmoril Witches—have the power to remove our curse. But I do not think they will do so freely. As a compromise and punishment for what they had inflicted upon us, I think that retrieving the heads of the hags will cleanse us."

Laní gazed down at him, unsure what to make of the revelation. The fact that the heads could free The Circle from their lycanthropy was logical; but the fact that Kodlak had ordered the coven to be exterminated as punishment did not seem quite… in character. The man was generally very peaceful and frowned upon any act of revenge. But the elf could understand that even the best people needed to take their anger out. And this mission seemed to be a hell of a way to do so.

"I sent Farkas to clear out the coven," the Harbinger stated. "He should return tomorrow at the latest. I worry for his safety, however," he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. Islanzadí nudged his shoulder affectionately, causing him to smile weakly up at her. "And Aela… she is bitter. She… assassinated on her own will the high leader of the Silver Hand. I fear retaliation: quickly." The she-wolf pulled back, surprised. "Their numbers and large and ours few at the moment: they could attack Jorrvaskr successfully, with Farkas gone and you in here." Kodlak groaned. "I'm too old for such stress."

At this, Islanzadí had to bark out an odd laugh. Kodlak smiled again, this time something genuine, and the elf did her best to grin back. She had a feeling that it was more frightening than comforting, but the old man seemed to be cheered by it. Giving her a fatherly embrace, the Harbinger promised, "I will send Farkas to visit you as soon as he returns. I'm sure his company is much more pleasant than mine or Vilkas's." His blue-grey eyes twinkled mischievously, and he laughed heartily as the Bosmer pinned her ears back, embarrassed. With one last pat on her shoulder, Kodlak turned and slipped out of the Underforge. Islanzadí caught a glimpse of the dark sky and sucked in as much fresh air as she could before the door slammed closed once more.

She yearned to be out of the forge; both entrances had been blocked to keep her inside, both for her safety and everybody else's. The Bosmer whined as she remembered Valenwood, wishing with everything she had that she could go back and see the tree cities again. But the Aldermi Dominion had taken them all over, she remembered with a growl. They wouldn't be the same, and she had nothing to return to. The Altmers had made sure of that.

Islanzadí shifted to look at the back entrance that led to the mountains. Briefly, she wondered what it would be like to run as wolf for the rest of her life. The internal battle had hardly abated; her elven mind had only grown stronger. Even now, the wolf and dragon warred and hacked at each other. The Bosmer closed her eyes and for a moment imagined, perhaps foolishly, what she would do if she ever regained her humanoid form.

Her thoughts would be her own again. She could speak to her friends, however few they may be, and get on Vilkas's case for his bitter and moody attitude. She could sleep without the bloody nightmares, haunted by the people she'd killed, and she could be _normal _again. As normal as the dragonborn could be, anyway.

She whined in longing again, kicking herself for keeping the identity a secret. If the others knew she bore the soul of a dovah, they could perhaps come up with a way to free it and help her change back. She wouldn't be spit upon and despised by the Nords in Jorrvaskr any longer and she could finally command the respect she felt she deserved for saving their sorry asses from the World Eater.

_If only,_ she thought bitterly. If only she was an elf again. She could run on her own two feet, feel the supple leather of her Nightingale armor and caress the sweeping, smooth curves of her bow. She could smile and laugh and banter with the others. She could settle down with someone, start a family. As snappish and cynical as she was, Laní _wanted _that. She wanted a husband, children, a place to call home. But who would love and accept a freak, a monster like herself? As far as the rest of Nirn was concerned, she was a mongrel and a hound. It didn't matter what she felt or thought. She'd never be taken seriously by any man, ever be considered someone desirable or beautiful, as she once had been.

Even as she thought it, she knew it was a lie. She puffed a short, forceful gust of air from her nose. Perhaps while most of the world would toss her away and ostracize her for something she had no choice in, she knew that there was one person who didn't look at her like she was a monster. Someone who had seen her murder almost an entire city, yet still came after her when she was in peril and visited her when no one else would, disregarding their own safety completely.

Farkas.

Her aching tail thumped once. Farkas understood her, perhaps even more than she did. The thought made her cringe almost; it was an odd thing, to feel as if someone could predict your actions or words on instinct. But either way, the hulking warrior had her figured out from the many nights he had spent in this very cave with her, since her horrifying transformation. Although the conversations were one-sided, he seemed to be able to guess what she was thinking from her reactions with uncanny accuracy. At first, the elf had chalked it up to his own beast blood, somehow being in tune with her because of his wolf-spirit. But she knew that that wasn't the case.

Rolling over onto her side, Islanzadí began grooming and cleaning the massive wound on her shoulder as she let her thoughts dwell on the handsome Nord. She would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy his company to the point where it was almost worrisome. She looked forward to his visits more than anything; they were the only things that had kept her from complete depression during that first week as a mutant wolf. She had learned many things about him as she sat with her. While he claimed to be not as smart as he should be, he had said many things—profound things—that made her angry at the ones who called him ice brain.

She had known from just speaking with him the day she arrived that he wasn't anything like his brother, except perhaps in looks. While Vilkas was a bitter, dour man and anything but a pleasure to be around, Farkas was open and kind. While he had judged her from the very beginning, on her race and size, he had quickly apologized and respected her for her skills. He was a fierce warrior but a kind, compassionate man. It was something that was hard to come by.

Islanzadí sighed in a huge gust, laying her head down over her crossed paws. She cared a great deal for the man, in ways that his brother would surely skin her alive for. She kneaded the ground with her sharp claws and settled down for the night, knowing that sleep was a lost cause.

* * *

><p>An unholy shriek pierced through the night air, shocking Islanzadí out of her weird, half-asleep-half-awake state. Her nostrils flared as she struggled to scent anything outside the stone walls of her prison. The scream came again, shrill and loud, and the Bosmer leapt to her paws and shoved her nose against the bottom of the door of the Underforge, shaking out her white coat as she went. The gentle night breeze carried scents that made her skin prickle and the beasts inside howl in rage and bloody desire for battle.<p>

The Silver Hand. Kodlak had been right; they had attacked Jorrvaskr while at its weakest.

Laní snarled, pacing in quick agitated circles as the Companions began to rise for battle, their hoarse and desperate cries to arms making her whine in indecision. She could not escape the Underforge; the idea was horribly stupid and would only result in more people getting hurt, should she be unable to rein in the sick desire for blood. Not only that, but the stone doors were nigh on impenetrable and she couldn't think of any way to break through them.

A deep battle cry rang through the night, and Islanzadí recognized it as Vilkas's voice. Instinctually, rashly, she threw back her head and howled with everything she had, hoping he'd release her and allow her to fight. She could not stand by while the Companions were under attack; it was not acceptable and the thought made her cringe.

She heard footsteps, but they weren't the ones she was hoping for. It was leather on stone, not steel, and Islanzadí's fur began to rise in rage as her vision began to cloud over in red. She pulled the wolf back just enough to think clearly and pushed the dragon forward. The dovah spirit was more rational and would perhaps help her more than the savagery of the beast.

The Underforge creaked open and a man slipped in, clad in hide armor and brandishing a long silver greatsword. "Ha!" he crowed as his comrades peered in. "So you are here. We suspected as much, demon mutt." He stalked forward, cackling as he spouted off what he was going to do to her. "You'll die at my hands, dog, as repayment for the lives of my brothers in arms!" With that, he leapt at her, sword swinging in a wide arc.

Snarling and snapping her fangs, Islanzadí pounced before he could bring his weapon down across her neck. The force of her jump sent them rocketing forward, out into the training yard of Jorrvaskr and into the heart of the fray. The other Silver Hand warriors yelped and dived out of the way as they came crashing down onto the stones, the Bosmer tearing at the man underneath her before they even hit the ground. His screeches echoed out into the night before they abruptly stopped as three taloned claws sank into his throat. The man choked, drowning in his own blood.

Laní felt the thrill of the hunt shoot through her veins and the wolf spirit came howling to the forefront of her mind, knocking the dragon aside. Her vision turned red again as the beast took over her thoughts, and before she could rein it in, her jaws sank into the abdomen of the nearest warrior. Luckily, it was an enemy woman, a silver dagger in her hand.

With a vicious shake and a stomach-turning snap, Islanzadí cracked the woman in two and threw her against the stone wall. Blood began to leak out of the woman's ears, eyes, and nose, but that didn't stop the she-wolf. She lunged again, ripping a chunk out of her torso and swallowing it whole. The Silver Hand shrieked before her eyes rolled back into her head and her skin paled as she bled out. Laní lapped up the pooling blood, staining her muzzle with crimson.

Desperately, the elf lashed out against the internal wolf. She heaved against it and yanked the dragon forward once more. But she had done so too harshly. The familiar white haze clouded her vision as the Bosmer whirled, sensing the approach of another attacker. Before she could stop herself, the power of the Thu'um hummed through her veins and she caught a glimpse of the white dragon within her, bellowing its rage, before the words of power sprang from her tongue.

"_FO KRAH DIIN!"_

Freezing snow and frost erupted from her open jaws, bathing her attacker in the frigid precipitation. She felt her eyes widen in utter shock at the familiar feeling of the Voice coursing throughout every muscle and sinew. The man's eyes widened into almost completely circular orbs in complete disbelief and horror before the frost breath froze him over, leaving him a dead, immobile statue of ice.

Islanzadí snapped her jaws shut, staring in open awe at her dead enemy. _The Thu'um! _she thought as the battle around her completely ceased, all eyes, both Companion and Silver Hand, resting on her. _By the Nine, I can still use the Voice!_

Roaring in utter glee and triumph, Islanzadí rose onto her hind legs and lunged for the nearest Silver Hand, the wolf subdued for the moment and the dragon triumphant. The man cried out in utter terror, completely horrified at the display of power. She clawed and dug at him, feeling the wonderful joy of the dovah within at the prospect of the Voice.

As her foe became nothing but shreds of flesh and blood beneath her, the Bosmer turned from her kill and pounced on a new one. No one dared approach her, shaking in their boots at the almost mad gleam in her scarlet eyes as she lunged at them. Companion and Silver Hand alike gave her a wide berth, both so terrified of the massive white, dragon-speaking werewolf that nobody had the guts to attack. The Companions feared that once the carnage was over, the wolf would turn on them. As a result, they hardly looked at her.

"_KRII LUN AUS!" _ Laní bellowed again, the words and dragon inside roaring throughout her entire body. The elf felt invincible and more powerful than the gods as she watched her enemies faint from absolute terror at the shout. She hungrily devoured their still forms, not caring when they woke up from the utter agony as she continued to feed.

"No!"

The one-word exclamation caused her to cease. Belatedly, she realized that the battle had ended and she was the only one left still attacking the corpses. Islanzadí braced herself to flee, banishing the dragon back to fight the wolf. But no one was looking at her.

Every Companion that was still alive after the onslaught was gathered around the still, bloody corpse of Kodlak Whitemane, the knife still piercing his heart.

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><p><strong>Things are going to start winding down, albeit slowly. I already know how Islanzadí's going to end up and what's going to happen to get her there. It's just a matter of getting it all down on paper.<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The courtyard was still. Not a soul dared to move or breathe as everyone stared in horror at the body, Vilkas and Aela the closest. The crickets chirped and the owls hooted, but they were the only sounds that filled the night before a long, low, drawn-out howl shocked everyone back to their senses.

Islanzadí scrambled over to Kodlak, her mind rejecting the proof before her. The Companions dived out of the way as she barreled towards them, hurtling to a stop and letting out a heart breaking whine as she nudged the Harbinger with her snout. Vilkas fell to his knees beside his dead mentor, mouth agape and eyes strangely empty. The Bosmer threw back her head and tucked her tail, crying out in utter sorrow at the twin moons and any gods that would hear her. She howled again and again until her throat was raw and her scarlet eyes stinging with tears she could not shed.

Finally, Njada seemed to realize just what she was. With a gasp, the Nord leapt to her feet and with a savage cry, lunged at the massive white wolf beside her dead Harbinger. Laní yelped and stumbled as the woman's skyforge steel sword sank into her back left haunch, so deep that the hilt almost brushed against her fur. The Bosmer's vision turned white and a blinding pain shot through her entire middle as the weapon punctured her kidneys and sliced through her reproductive organs. Aela snapped her watery eyes away from Kodlak at the elf's cries of anguish as her dirty white fur became stained in the crimson of her own blood.

Njada's actions seemed to spark a raging movement. Laní had no way to defend herself as she sank to the ground, the other able-bodied Companions rushing over to her, weapons drawn and eyes wild for revenge. They didn't know that it wasn't the Bosmer the Silver Hand had come after. To them, she was to blame for their Harbinger's death. If she hadn't been here, the 'bandits'—as they thought the attackers were—would never have come. They had no idea it was an act of revenge, aimed at the leader of their guild.

Vilkas's silvery eyes widened in alarm as he jumped to his feet. "Stop!" he shouted, rushing forward and shoving his way to the front of the crowd. "Cease at once! She's not a threat, fools, stop!" He drew his greatsword and swung it in a mighty arc, forcing the other Companions to back away. Aela sprang up from her position beside her mentor's side and dashed to Vilkas, bow drawn and three arrows knocked at once.

"Move, Vilkas!" Ria spat, her honey brown eyes flaming. "The dog has to die! This is its fault; Kodlak wouldn't have died if not for that… that… _monster._" Her voice cracked on the last word. "She must pay the price." Njada yelled her agreement and Torvar managed a weak growl, clutching his right side. Athis moaned a few feet away on the stones, and Tilma hurried over to him, her wrinkled face pale with fright and grief.

"Enough," Aela hissed as Islanzadí's breathing became labored. "It's not what you think, shield-siblings." She glared down the shafts of her arrows at them all. "This is Islanzadí, the Bosmer that joined us all those weeks ago." An arrow flew into the post mere inches from Njada's head, effectively cutting off her scoff of disbelief. "She was bitten by a feral while on a job. We've been trying to cure her ever since."

The elf whined weakly from behind her fellow wolves, hoping they'd take the hint and cut the chatter. Her vision was beginning to tunnel and the sword was still lodged in her hip, the blood continuing to sheet from the lethal wound. Islanzadí's scarlet eyes came to rest on Kodlak as her hearing became almost non-existant and her thoughts began to jumble together. The dagger was still buried in his chest and his blue-grey eyes were still wide and empty. The Bosmer felt a little piece of her heart shrivel and die at the sight of it; the man that had been the closest thing she'd had to a father in many, many years, the person who had exhausted themselves worrying and researching a cure for her, was dead. Gone, in an instant.

She vaguely registered vibrations in the ground as weapons were dropped and heavy footsteps came towards her. She didn't feel pain as the sword in her body was yanked free, and she didn't care when she felt her heartbeat slow and her insides swirl together unnaturally. She kept her eyes on her mentor, her leader, her counselor as the life leeched out of her in a crimson flow.

As her eyes began to close and her breathing began to rattle in her chest, the elf had one final thought before she felt the blackness and emptiness wash over her.

_I'm sorry._

* * *

><p>Farkas's feet were dragging and his eyelids were heavy as he pushed open the great gates of Whiterun, but his lopsided grin was triumphant. The mission had been successful: in his pack sat four gory severed heads of Glenmoril witches. One for Kodlak, one for Vilkas, one for Aela and one for himself. They stank to high Sovngarde but if that's what it took to be rid of the beast, then by all means, he'd carry the things.<p>

The Nord let out a massive yawn as he walked the silent streets. _That's odd,_ he mused to himself. Normally there was a guard or two wandering around aimlessly and a beggar to pester him for gold, but the cobblestone roads were completely empty. He quickened his pace as he lumbered up the stairs to the wind district, not quite sure what to make of it. It was supposed to storm tonight, so maybe everybody was just holing up inside. That's what he would do.

The pounding of feet caught his attention and he snapped his gaze over to Jorrvaskr. To his surprise, Aela was pelting across the circle towards the Temple of Kynareth. "Hey!" he shouted cheerfully, waving at his shield-sister. She didn't stop her breakneck pace, only cast him a quick glance. Shrugging, he continued towards the headquarters but stopped dead in his tracks.

Blood was splattered heavily across the stone steps and the doors were wide open, hanging off their hinges. He could hear the cries of mourners and his brother's shouts.

He nearly dropped the head sack as he sprinted up the stairs and burst into the dining hall. Bodies of Silver Hand lay strewn about, some roasting in the massive central fire. The tables were overturned, the walls were smeared with dark red and he could hear moans of pain coming from the living quarters. Njada and Ria sat on a bench together, staring at nothing and the latter with tearstains on her cheeks. But that's not what caught his attention; the doors to the training yard were open as well.

Farkas saw the bloodied body of Kodlak, horribly still and silent, and a heap of white fur not far from his side.

This time, the sack thunked to the ground. Farkas blindly stumbled over his own feet in his haste, chanting, "No, no no no no," over and over at the mortifying sight. He finally made it outside and fell onto all fours, his blue eyes wide as he crawled over to his dead Harbinger. Farkas's breaths came out in shuddering gasps at the emptiness of Kodlak's eyes and the way his mouth stayed open, almost looking like he was scared. But that wasn't true; he knew nothing scared Kodlak.

"FARKAS!" Vilkas bellowed, making the younger twin jump. "He's dead, there's nothing you can do for him." Farkas snapped his gaze up to his brother, about to yell at him for saying such a thing, before he noticed that Vilkas's gauntlets were gone and his arms were dark red all the way up to his elbows. His twin's silvery eyes were narrowed in heated concentration and he knelt, and Farkas felt his heart stutter painfully to a stop at the sight of a frighteningly still, horribly silent white she-wolf.

Everything seemed to crash down on the hulking Nord; it seemed his world had flipped upside down and all he ever knew was rolling around in disarray. "Oh Talos," he breathed as he scrambled away from Kodlak's side, eyes wide and stinging. He forced the tears back; he never cried. Ever. It was childish. But the effort became harder as he scooped up Islanzadí's head and felt the deadweight. He listened as hard as he could for breathing, took huge gulps of air for any kind of scent of life. Vilkas grunted in frustration as he plunged his hands yet again into the wolf's side, and Farkas's breath stuttered as he noticed the impossibly deep wound, stretching nearly a foot wide and still gushing.

"Stabbed," Vilkas hissed through his teeth as he blindly felt around inside Laní. "Almost went entirely through her. I'm _trying_—gods, Njada—to align her innards correctly before the healer gets here. Not that it'll do any good," he finished darkly. "Her heart's hardly pumping and she stopped breathing over a minute ago."

"This isn't happening," Farkas growled in grief and heartache. "Talos, this can't be happening. They can't both die, not like this." He closed his eyes to ignore the brief look of pity his brother cast him. He let his face fall against the smelly, course fur of Islanzadí's neck. He felt the still-wet blood from her kills smear across his face, but he didn't care. His chest felt horribly constricted. He couldn't lose his father, by all rights and every meaning, and the woman he loved in the same night.

Farkas froze at the thought. He couldn't love Laní. He didn't. It was an accident; he hadn't meant to think that he did. It was impossible: she was an elf, probably far older than him, and he was a Nord. It wasn't possible.

_Lies! _his heart protested, and Farkas couldn't find it in himself to argue. He was just as good with feelings—he mentally shuddered at the word—as he was with words. He didn't know what it was that was making seeing her on the doorstep of Hircine's hunting grounds so completely and mind bogglingly wretched, but he didn't really want to sort it out right then. There were definitely more important things to do.

"I got her," Aela panted from behind him, making him flinch in surprise. He lifted his aching head out of the reddish fur and stared blankly up at his shield-sister, who was watching him carefully. "The healer," she explained, gesturing to a woman clad in orange and yellow robes. "I brought her back. Is the elf…?"

"Not yet," Vilkas grunted as he pulled his hands out of Islanzadí's body. "But I don't think there's really a point anymore. You can try, Danica, but it's not going to work." He turned to his brother, Farkas's face uncharacteristically empty. "I'm sorry, brother."

The healer, Danica Pure-Spring, stepped forward to inspect the gash. Her eyes were filled with worry, and Farkas guessed Aela had told her everything. Shaking her head, the priestess said, "It is too late. I can do nothing for her, Companions." With a sad, empty voice, she asked, "Would you like me to prepare the Harbinger's body for burial at the temple?" Vilkas and Aela hesistated before nodding, their eyes dark with crushing sorrow as the healer turned to take her leave.

"She's gone," Farkas whispered, staring down at the elf. He felt an impossible ache begin to throb in his chest, so painful and wretched it was all he could do not to howl in utter despair. "Kodlak's gone. Laní's gone." He looked up at his older brother and the huntress, his eyes shiny and pleading. "It's a nightmare, right? The beast is making me have nightmares again."

"Farkas," Vilkas said gently, something odd for the dour man, reaching out for his brother. "I—"

He was cut off by a guttural growl. Farkas yelped in shock, dropping Islanzadí's head and scrambling backwards; the sound had come from her. He had felt her throat vibrate. Vilkas, too, fell over himself in his hurry to get away. "What the—"

He was cut off again, this time by a much louder noise; a howl. They watched in terror as Islanzadí's eyes snapped open, her chest still unmoving as she didn't breathe. They kept their wide eyes on her as she lifted herself onto her paws, moving almost as if in a trance, and began to limp away. Farkas's mind was completely blown; dead bodies don't get up and walk off. Especially when one of their back legs shouldn't have any way to move.

The wound had stopped bleeding when the she-wolf's heart had stilled, and the gash was not gushing still. She was dead as a doornail, but she was walking. With her eyes open.

"Follow her," Vilkas whispered urgently as the elf stumbled through the Underforge. "We have to see where she's going. Perhaps to Hircine. Then we might be able to get her back."

Farkas belatedly realized that his brother was talking to him. "Oh," he said, eyes trailing in complete disbelief after the elf. "Yeah. Yeah, we should." With that, he shakily got to his feet and trailed after his brother, not able to think. He had absolutely _no idea _if he would ever be able to think again after tonight. With all he had seen, he was contemplating if he might be mad.

Islanzadí trudged through the back entrance of the Underforge into the mountains, pushing aside the barriers the Companions had put there as if they were nothing. Vilkas and Farkas shared an awed look as they crept along behind the massive wolf as she made her way to a large, open space. There she sat, staring straight ahead, still dead as Kodlak. Farkas stared, wondering if she'd move again, but she stayed rooted to her spot.

Finally, he grew anxious. "Wait here," he hissed to Vilkas. "I want to see if I can talk to her. Maybe her spirit is looking for something and she needs to be spoken to." Ignoring his brother's urgent whispers of warning, he stalked forward until he was right in front of Islanzadí, her black nose over his head.

He gently stroked her shoulder, and her red eyes snapped down to look at him. They locked onto his, and for a moment, the world around Farkas seemed to spin. The Bosmer's eyes closed, and with a jolt, he felt something invade his mind and brush against his consciousness. A thousand voices seemed to whisper in a weird, unknown language, before a high, sharp, familiar tone stood out.

_Farkas,_ it whispered, and he nearly jumped away from the elf. It was _her _voice. Her actually voice; the one he had heard her speak with. _Farkas. It is I, Islanzadí. Speak with your thoughts, and I will hear._

Farkas stared at her closed eyes, wondering if it was his newly founded madness twisting things around. A ghostly chuckle brushed against his ears, and he yelped again at the feeling. _Silly man, _the voice said. _You are far from mad. A bit unimaginative, perhaps, but not insane. _There was a very familiar playful sound to her voice.

…_It really is you_, he said in awe. _What… what happened? How can you do it? You're dead!_

_No, _Laní responded. _I am not. The body of the beast is no more, but there are other souls who are not ready to depart yet. _At this, she chuckled. _My wolf spirit is alive, Nord, battling within._

_Battling?_ he asked, confused. _Battling what? Is that even possible?_

_Very, _she quipped sharply. _And she is in an eternal struggle with the spirit of a dovah. A dragon. _The scarlet eyes opened at once at the mention, and Farkas felt yet another shock jolt through him. A dragon soul. Islanzadí had a dragon soul.

_You're dragonborn, _he thought-whispered. _Dear Talos. _

_Yes,_ she said bitterly. _I am the dovahkiin, the defeater of Alduin. And the beast blood that whore forced upon me has locked me in this state, never able to change or die until one has lost the fight. _At this, her eyes closed again. Farkas's mind reeled with the knowledge that this woman, the one he had fought beside and desired, had saved his homeland. That she was dragonborn. _But I know now how to escape._

_Escape? _Farkas panicked. _Escape how? You're not going to die, right? _

Islanzadí chuckled. _Perhaps, _she said dully. Farkas's chest panged uncomfortably again. _But death is better than being the monster I am. I have killed many things, Farkas, many dragons and many people. _Farkas bristled, about to protest, but she didn't stop. _The dovah… they are so beautiful, Nord, so majestic and powerful. The souls of those I have claimed still stir within me, howling and clawing for taking them away from this world. _She sounded broken, he realized. _I did not want to kill them. I share their soul, but am in the body of an elf. You don't understand how difficult it is to take away the life of something so similar to you, so powerful._

_Yes, I do, _he shot back. _I've killed, too, Laní. I've killed, Nords, Bretons, Imperials. Hell, I've even killed an Ork. _

_But you do not steal their souls and listen to them pine for their old lives, _she snapped bitingly. _I know how to release them. I know how to escape my beast form, and whether or not I forfeit my life is my choice. _Farkas recoiled from the malice in her voice, and when she spoke next, it was softer, apologetic. _I did not expect you to understand and accept this with such calmness._

Farkas grinned despite himself and gave a mental shrug. _It's been a wild night. I'll believe just about anything, anymore._

_I see,_ Islanzadí whispered. Her great head turned away from him, lifting to the sky. _My strength is draining. This body is dead and I cannot animate it much longer from inside. You may watch if you wish, but be prepared._

_Prepared for what?_

Laní's tone was light when she spoke next. _You'll see. Oh, and Farkas?_

The Nord looked up at her, still staring vacantly at the stars. _What?_

_I love you, too._

* * *

><p><strong>I had planned to end this chapter much differently, but I couldn't resist. :3 Oh, and Razzika: probably another two chapters, maybe three.<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**Oops. Well, I have no excuse for updating so late, except that a distratction in the form of a wickedly hot elf with white hair and lyrium markings named Fenris intruded rather rudely. Sorry 'bout that.**

**Anyway, so I've noticed that it's not entirely unpopular for readers to create fanart of some of their favorite stories. If any of you readers out there are artists, I would LOVE YOU FOREVER if you drew something for this story, whether it be Laní and Farkas together as wolves or the whole gang or whatever, but I would gladly write you anything you wanted, as long as it's not smut. I don't do smut. **

**There's only a short epilouge left, guys! Thank you so much to all of you who have favorited, alerted, and followed this story from beginning to end. It means so much to me that you liked it!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten<strong>

A dragon.

There was a bloody _dragon._

Farkas and Vilkas stood, jaws smacking to the ground as Islanzadí threw back her great white head and let out the loudest, most ear-shattering shout there ever was to hear. "_OD AH VIING!_" She had bellowed, the wolf twins jumping at the earth-shaking noise. As the echoes of her shout died away, whispers on the breeze blew through their clearing, and Farkas could hear those thousand ancient voices, chanting over and over again: "_Odahviing! Odahviing! Odahviing!"_

A great rush of wings, the sound so similar to that of thunder, and an equally bone-shaking roar. A distant shape, massive and striking fear into the hearts of the twins, flew across the image of the moon and bellowed again before diving straight for them. The earth trembled and rocked, throwing Farkas and Vilkas to their knees as the great dragon landed mere yards away from Islanzadí. Farkas's silvery-blue eyes widened and he tried to find his voice to call out to her, to warn her, but the beast was still. The elf was staring at him silently as she waited for whatever it was she needed.

Farkas heard his brother curse under his breath at the sight, and he grudgingly had to agree with Islanzadí's earlier testimonies. The great winged reptile was magnificent, with a regal, frightening maw and hard scales that glistened like rubies in the watery moonlight. His eyes were wide and yellow, full of of ancient wisdom and profound intelligence that Farkas had no way to understand. His hide was striped, black strips breaking the scarlet of his scales. The dragon's neck was arched proudly and his wings were unfurled at his sides to display his might and immense size. Milky white fangs curved from his mouth and shone, the teeth thicker than Farkas's fists and longer than his forearm.

A terrifyingly beautiful beast of legend.

"Dovahkiin," the dragon rumbled, his voice rich and deep but still scratchy, and Farkas flinched to hear him talk. Vilkas was beyond words, his mouth still hanging unhinged. "You have called for me, _fahliil med dovah._" Islanzadí bowed her head in respect, and Farkas wondered if she was speaking to the dragon as she had to him. "But you are a wolf, _grohiik._" His large yellow eyes flashed.

It was then that Islanzadí stiffened and her eyes closed, and the dragon's head cocked to the side in interest. His eyes immediately found those of Farkas and his brother, and the beast let out a low chuckle. The younger Nord bristled, wondering what on Nirn Laní was telling him. He jutted his chin out defiantly, and the dragon's eyes sparkled with something Farkas thought looking frighteningly similar to anger. Elf and dragon began to walk towards them, and Vilkas stiffened and began to draw his weapon.

"Peace, Nord," the dragon said. "_Drem._ The dragonborn tells me it is your kind that has inflicted your curse upon her." Laní stumbled, her knees weakening, and Farkas made a noise of pain and worry. The Bosmer had said that her strength was waning and that she needed to be released as soon as possible.

Farkas brought his blue eyes up to meet that of the dragon. "Yes," he said in a small voice. "But not us exactly. But she says she knows how to be freed of it." He eyed the reptile skeptically. "I don't know how she thinks you're going to do it, really, but…" he trailed off, not sure how to finish without offending the beast that could rip him in half should it want to.

"He wants you to get on with it," Vilkas snapped from beside him, and Farkas turned to his brother, shocked at his insolence and tone. "We have been through battle tonight and our leader has fallen. If you cannot help us, dragon, then be gone."

"My name is Odahviing," the dragon said calmly. "And I am capable of helping the dovahkiin, _gein voth sunvaar._" Odahviing eyed the wolf twins speculatively. "You would do well to hold your tongues." Turning to the elf, he inquired, "You wish to be freed from the curse, dovahkiin. Are you sure you want to be unbound by the power I give you? _Hin fen aus_."

Islanzadí shocked them all by rumbling, "_Geh. Zu hind wah evenaar fin raan sil."_ Farkas had no idea what she had said or how she had uttered it, for her mouth had not opened, but the great ruby beast nodded his assent and breathed, "So be it."

They faced each other, Laní's legs shaking from the effort to hold the dead wolf body up and Odahviing closing his large topaz eyes. In sync, the two began chanting in an ancient tongue spoken by few. Gales of wind began to harshly blow through the clearing and tug on his and Vilkas's hair. The twins shot each other terrified glances at what was happening and stumbled as the gusts of wind continued to rock through the mountains and rush over them.

Suddenly, the two beasts of nature threw back their heads and let out earth-shattering roars. Laní's bellow was strangled with unimaginable agony and the wind was the only thing that stopped Farkas from rushing over to his elf and begging her to stop whatever it was she was doing. "No!" he shouted, the wind picking up speed and drowning out his words, carrying them away before anyone could hear them. "Stop! Laní, please, you have to quit!"

Odahviing's wings began to unfurl as he rose onto his hind legs, his great maw still lifted to the sky as he roared and roared in his native tongue. Farkas watched in utter horror as Islanzadí's white pelt fell off of her into a shimmering heap and a ghostly form erupted from where the wolf had been. Farkas shouted again in shock, and tried in vain to make his way to her, but Vilkas yanked him back and the wind shoved against him.

The see-through form that had taken the place of Laní was growing and shifting, solidifying. It exploded in size, reaching the same immense stature as the mighty red dragon. Huge wings sprouted from the shoulders and Farkas's eyes grew wide in aching loss as she roared again, the sound completely foreign and unfamiliar. Her neck lengthened and grew plated scales and a long, thick tail began to swing through the air, vicious spikes whipping around on the tip. She continued to sprout armored scales and continued to become less and less spirit-like until at last, the ritual was complete. The winds died and Odahviing lowered his head from the sky to inspect the dovahkiin in her true form.

Standing in the clearing was a monstrous, pure white dragon.

Her eyes were scarlet. Her claws were wickedly curved and serrated and her teeth were hardly distinguishable from the scales of her sparkling jaw. Her head wasn't as blockish as the male dragon's; it was more slender and elegant, curving where Odahviing's was sharply angular, and almost elven in appearance and slim. Great horns twisted out of her brow and curled towards her neck, and wicked spikes ran down the length of her body. The massive arm-wings were nearly translucent with thin bluish veins spider webbing beneath the thin membrane. The elf-dragon thundered again, and Farkas's heart shattered to pieces to realize that she hadn't come back to him. She hadn't changed back to his elf.

She was a dragon now.

"No," he whispered, and his voice broke. Odahviing and the Laní-dragon turned to look at him, and he felt Vilkas squeeze his shoulder in pity. Farkas stared, wide-eyed, at what once had been his elf, who mere minutes ago had admitted her love for him. He had never gotten the chance to say it back, and now he never would; he doubted she even knew who he was anymore.

The white dragon turned to him and lashed her tail. "_Zu'u dovah!_" she exclaimed, and her eyes sparkled for reasons Farkas didn't know. Odahviing nodded and said, "The change is complete. The wolf is banished and you have taken your true dovah form. _Zu hind ven ko hin viings , krilot dovah._" With a great rush of wings and a thunderous clap of air, he launched himself back into the sky and disappeared over the mountains, roaring his freedom and happiness at having helped the dragonborn. Farkas reasoned he must not have known that his 'help' had completely shattered any hope the Nord had had for his elf to return to him.

Farkas continued to stare through blurred vision at Islanzadí. He vaguely registered words of comfort from his brother before he padded away to help restore Jorrvaskr. Farkas dropped to the ground in defeat as the dragon settled herself a few feet from him, scrutinizing him and flicking her tail. Farkas distantly wondered why she hadn't left yet.

"Well?" she quipped, and Farkas was so startled he yelped and nearly fell over in shock. "Aren't you going to say something?" She sniffed indignantly, and Farkas marveled at how she sounded almost exactly like the elf he had known and cherished.

"…What? But… you… I mean…" he finally sputtered after a few minutes of gawking. Farkas pointed accusingly at her, and she watched him wearily as he tried to wrap his mind around what was going on. "You're a… a…"

"Dragon?"

"Aye."

Islanzadí made an odd rumbling noise deep in her chest and Farkas was now very certain of his insanity. "I have gained the dragon form, yes. But that does not mean I cannot speak." She looked him up and down before sighing. "I ought to explain, I suppose, or else you will go into shock."

"You're leaving." Farkas said flatly before she had the chance to say anything. "You can't stay with us anymore. You have to go."

The Bosmer's ruby eyes grew sad as she nodded. "Aye, Farkas. I cannot stay with you anymore," she said, and the Nord felt his heart shatter once again to hear it confirmed. He hung his head and stood on wobbly legs, still slightly in shock at the events that had taken place. He slowly walked over to her and placed a tentative hand on her massive, elegantly curved snout, and Islanzadí closed her eyes and hummed before pulling away. "But I owe you the truth, for all you have done for me."

Nodding, Farkas sat down not far from her jaw and waited, sitting back on his hands and vowing silently to himself to interrupt as much as possible so she would have to stay longer. The white dragon sighed again before saying, "You already know that the blood of the dragon in my veins was what caused me to be trapped in the form of the wolf."

"Aye."

"Then you also know that the spirit of that wolf and the spirit of the dragon already inside me were fighting for control over my body the entire time. I could not—"

"Yes, I know that, too," he said, and couldn't help but chuckle at the look of mild annoyance on Islanzadí's face, if a dragon can seem annoyed. She was on to him. "But you were saying?"

"Watch it, Nord," she growled before continuing. "But yes. The dragon and wolf warred within me and I could not phase back. In order to change from the form of a wolf to the body of a dragon, the dovah needed to have a distinct amount of power over the wolf spirit." She looked down at him. "I needed a way to permanently defeat the beast blood. And the only route that I imagined working was to call upon the power of the Thu'um and request the assistance of another dragon."

"What's the Thu'um?" Farkas asked, mildly interested.

"The language of the dragons. The words are imbued with power and can call upon different forces of nature as well as man and dragon. But that is irrelevant." She shot him a dark look, and he had to fight back a groan of fear; she was much more intimidating now. "Odahviing assisted me in the defeat of Alduin. He had pledged his loyalty to me and I needed his combined power with mine to give the dragon soul enough of an advantage to banish the wolf. It worked," she said darkly, and Farkas felt his chest pang again in agony. "But not in the way I expected. I thought that I would either regain my elven form, my birth body, with no injuries to speak of, or regain it with the wound Njada—" she snarled the Nord's name and Farkas's heartache was chased away for a brief moment by utter fury. "—had so graciously tried to slay me with. I did not expect to transform from one beast to another." Her voice grew incredibly sad, full of an ancient weariness that made Farkas's chest positively _ache _in despair.

"I wish you hadn't," he whispered brokenly, unable to meet her large scarlet eyes. "I wanted you to come back. I wanted you to be normal."

Islanzadí made the odd humming noise again, but this time it didn't sound as cheery. She pressed the tip of her nose to his forehead, and Farkas marveled at the warmth and smoothness of her new scales. "I wish it hadn't happened either," she rumbled, and the wolf-man reached up to touch her muzzle. Pulling away, she said, "One of my most recurring nightmares, old blood, was that I would never be an elf again. The nightmares of the beast within were horrible, but to think that I would not be normal ever again was the most frightening. And now it has occurred."

Farkas finally lifted his blue eyes to meet her red ones. "I'm sorry this happened," he burst suddenly. "I'm sorry about Aela and Skjor. I'm sorry I couldn't help you. I'm sorry that me and Vilkas and Kodlak couldn't protect you better." His voice was shaky, and he desperately tried to force it back to normal. "I'm _sorry,_ Islanzadí. It's all my fault. If I had just paid more attention to what Skjor and Aela were planning—"

"No," she said sternly, making him flinch. "It is no one's fault but Aela's. She talked Skjor into transforming me and she talked _me _into attacking the Silver Hand." She nuzzled him again, and Farkas's breath stuttered. "I do not wish our last meeting to be full of finger-pointing and accusations." Pulling back, she looked him straight in the eyes and said firmly, "You will hold no one accountable for my troubles, Farkas. They are mine to shoulder and it is not part of your character, anyway."

Nodding his agreement, Farkas said, "So this is goodbye? For good?"

Islanzadí made a sound that resembled a cough somewhat. "Yes," she muttered as quietly and intensely as she could. "This is farewell." Leaning down, she puffed warm breath into his face, blowing his dark hair back, and Farkas walked forward and wrapped his thick arms around her neck, careful of her sharp spikes. "I will miss you, Farkas," she rumbled, as if admitting a weakness. "Kick your brother's arse for me and don't be such a pushover anymore, understood?"

Chuckling bitterly, Farkas agreed. Before he pulled away, her pressed a short kiss against the underside of her throat and whispered those three words that she had told him what seemed like a lifetime ago. He stepped away and blinked back the salty water in his eyes as he watched her dig her talons into the dirt underfoot and unfurl her massive bluish wings. With a powerful thrust from her hind legs and a monumental flap of her wings, she soared into the air, the wind from her departure nearly knocking him over. Farkas watched her sail and twist through the night as she disappeared over the mountains' distant peaks until he couldn't see her any longer. With a bitter smile twisting his lips, he turned and began to trudge back to his broken, leaderless home.

* * *

><p><strong>Two years later<strong>

"Good," Farkas praised as he watched Ria and Athis spar. The Dunmer had expertly blocked Ria's thrust of shoved her back, causing her to stumble. "Ria, you were too slow to recover and your offense is predictable. Take a break and we'll continue after supper." The two warriors nodded at him and sheathed their swords before wandering off to do who-knows-what.

The Nord dragged a weary hand down his face, exhausted. Even though his wolf-spirit was forever gone, having been defeated by him and Vilkas when they visited Ysgramor's tomb to lay Kodlak to rest properly, he hadn't had a proper night's sleep in what seemed like forever.

Two years had gone by since that fateful night when Islanzadí had flown away. Farkas sighed as he trudged back into Jorrvaskr, looking for something to do; Aela had a list of jobs somewhere.

Vilkas had been named Harbinger by the spirit of Kodlak, although the old leader had seemed hesitant, inquiring about the elf. Farkas had told him in short, bitter tones that she was gone, offering hardly any information about what they had spoken of before the elf-dragon had flown away. Kodlak had looked incredibly sad and offered condolences that fell on deaf ears and named his brother Harbinger and that was the end of that. But the heartache was still there. The years since she had left had dulled the pain from constant pangs and sleepless nights to a dull throb that could sometimes be forgotten under the right circumstances, but Farkas wasn't quite the same. He still smiled and laughed, but the sounds were sometimes hollow and his grins were much rarer than before. Even Vilkas—of all people—had had to tell him to cheer up. But it wasn't effective; Farkas did not love many, although he was very kind, and those he did, he loved with everything he had: heart, mind, body and soul.

Farkas plunked down in a chair in the full dining hall beside Torvar and Valric, a new Imperial recruit that had arrived a few months ago and quickly fell into their little family. The man was young with a mop of messy blonde curls and grey eyes and a wicked talent with a battle axe, and had rapidly become infatuated with Aela, much to the huntress's annoyance. The thought made Farkas want to smile, but instead the Nord grabbed and hunk of bread and took a gulp of mead, chewing thoughtfully.

"Evenin'," Torvar greeted cheerfully, munching on his supper. He shot Farkas a mischievous look and asked, "Me and Valric are heading on over to the Bannered Mare tonight, buddy! You should tag along; you might even get that pretty Ysolda gal into you bed, mm?" Torvar laughed heartily at the black look Farkas shot him, and Valric just shrugged.

"No thanks," Farkas said shortly. "I don't want to have to carry you home like last time, Torvar. That was humiliating."

"HEY!" someone shouted as the doors to Jorrvaskr burst open, and Farkas spewed mead everywhere at the sound.

The Nord shot up and whirled around, only to be greeted by a madly grinning elf with scarlet eyes and long raven hair pulled into a messy braid. She had war paint around her eyes and the tip of her right ear was missing.

Blue eyes met scarlet, and Islanzadí's perfect lips pulled up into a satisfied smirk at Torvar and Farkas's flabbergasted expressions. "Miss me, anyone?"

Farkas didn't answer her question, and he didn't have to. Laní's smile grew impossibly wide as in three long strides he crossed over to her, wove his fingers into her silky hair like he had dreamed of for two years and kissed her, to catcalls and whistles of the Companions. Her arms came up to wrap around his neck as she stood on her tip-toes and kissed him back, making sure to keep it appropriate for public. Too soon, they pulled apart for air.

Farkas was amazed at the dazzling brilliance of Islanzadí's smile. She wasn't as beautiful as he remembered; she was utterly striking. "How…" he managed to choke, and she laughed, the sound pealing like bells and making his face light up in the biggest grin he'd had since she left.

"It was temporary," she gasped, breathless from their kiss. "I don't know what happened; I just woke up one morning in my nest and I didn't have scales or wings anymore. I guess the way I thought and moved and felt was more human than dragon, and it forced me back to this!" She gestured at herself, and Farkas's eyes roved over her appreciatively. "I was even more surprised than you are, I promise you." She smirked again. "So? Did you miss me?"

Chuckling, he pretended to think until she smacked him and he winced; he had forgotten how strong she was. "Yes," he snickered, and shot Valric a dirty look when the boy 'awwwed'.

Islanzadí only chuckled and turned Farkas's face back to hers. Her scarlet eyes smoldered and everyone in the room faded and was forgotten as her warrior slanted his mouth over hers again and caught her in a searing, blistering kiss.

_Home,_ Islanzadí thought as they broke away, grinning. _Home at last._


	11. Epilouge

**Epilouge**

There was a child.

A boy, with scraggly dark hair and pointed ears. His almond-shaped blue eyes would sparkle with laughter and vast intelligence one his age would normally never have. Graceful as the summer breeze and just as warm, his laugh was contagious and sent shivers of warmth to those around him.

He could run with wolves. He could speak with dragons.

In a secluded clearing where none would ever find him save the pups, the child romped with the wolves and hissed in strange a language few knew and understood. He had seen the world the way only a dovah could, perched on the back of a glittering ruby and black serpent and had roared along with him. His silvery-blue eyes' pupils were slitted and would flash with menace should you provoke him.

A young boy. A young hero.

A legend.

* * *

><p><strong>It's short. I know. Painfully so. But here marks the end of my first completed, published work, Nightmares of the Beast. Thanks a million to all you out there who have enjoyed and read this; I'm so grateful for everything you've said and done. <strong>


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